


Amid the Chaos

by ShayaLonnie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Het and Slash, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Violence, mentions of non-con elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8375905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShayaLonnie/pseuds/ShayaLonnie
Summary: "Maybe this was how you stayed sane in wartime: a handful of noble deeds amid the chaos."
When Harry Potter died at the Battle of Hogwarts, Voldemort destroyed Wizarding Britain. Enslaved for years, Hermione's magic has been bound. Soon, however, she'll discover that nothing and no one are what they seem to be.*Indefinite Hiatus—Not Abandoned*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta Love: LadyParongsny, BirdieMing

**May 2nd, 1998**

Cold and wet and shaking.

Hermione couldn't stop herself from clinging to Ron's hands as they sat on the grand staircase. He prompted her more than once, but she couldn't bring herself to speak. She was terrified that, despite hell unleashing all around them, he would ask her about the kiss—the _mistake_. She didn't think she had it in her to spare Ron's feelings considering what was happening; considering where Harry might—

Looking up at the sound of footsteps, her teary eyes widened at the sight of Harry. Still there. Still _alive_. She stood, letting go of Ron's hand swiftly and made a break for Harry. "Where have you been?" she demanded, a small part of her tempted to hit him for scaring her so badly.

Ron stepped up to her side, hair still wet from the Chamber of Secrets, sticking to his forehead. "We thought you went into the forest."

Harry stared at her for a long moment before dropping his gaze to the ground. "I'm going there now."

Hermione's heart stopped beating for a split second, just long enough for her to feel the devastating pain of the loss. No, she mouthed silently, meaning to say the words aloud but unable to.

"Are you mad?" Ron wondered. "No! You can't give yourself up to him."

Harry lifted his eyes again, the green looking dull. Fatigue, malnourishment, stress, and the weight of the world had dimmed the spark in his gaze.

"What is it, Harry? What is it you know?"

"There's a reason I can hear them."

Hermione shook her head. _No, no, no._

"The Horcruxes."

_Oh god, no._

"I think I've known for a while."

Tears spilt over onto her cheeks.

"And I think you have too."

She _had_ known. For a while, as he had said. However, denial was powerful enough that even the logical Hermione Granger had found security in pretending that the knowledge she had wasn't real. _Couldn't_ be real. If it was real, then Dumbledore had known—known everything for years—and he'd just been keeping Harry safe and alive for _this_. She wanted to think that Dumbledore would have tried to find another way. Which meant that if he hadn't . . . then there _was_ no other way.

She wasn't ready to admit that.

Harry sighed when Ron put a hand on his shoulder in silent commiseration. He reached out and took Hermione's fingers, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her knuckles softly. The action just made the tears sting painfully. She looked up and met his gaze, heart clenching tightly in her chest.

"I'll go with you."

* * *

She hadn't, of course.

Harry wouldn't have let her.

 _"Kill the snake,"_ he had said.

She had a job to do.

But now . . . Now she couldn't think of what that was. A high, cold voice pierced the grounds of Hogwarts, and both McGonagall and Ginny were wailing as the Death Eaters approached the battle-torn school.

"Harry Potter is dead!"

She thought she heard herself screaming; she thought she felt herself moving forward, wand raised, but Ron had wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest, holding her tight as she sobbed. She felt him shake against her, crying, filled with grief and rage just like she was. Harry was dead. Their best friend.

Her . . . her _everything_.

"No, no, no . . ." she cried. "He can't be dead . . . he can't . . ."

"I know," Ron whispered to her, his voice cracking. "We'll kill him, Hermione. We'll kill that snake-faced bastard if it's the last thing we do. I swear it."

Hermione felt someone take her hand, and she turned and looked up to see Neville standing beside them, jaw clenched tight, wand in one hand, his other holding onto her.

"We'll do it for Harry," he said.

He looked frightened and frightening all at once, and she could see how the D.A. had followed his lead that past year. The same way she and Ron had always followed Harry.

She looked over Ron's shoulder to where Harry's body was, limp in Hagrid's arms.

Neville squeezed her hand again, and Ron held her tighter. She couldn't tell which of them were offering the other the strength they needed. Likely both.

They watched in horror as Hagrid put Harry's body on the ground at Voldemort's feet. The pale villain hovered over him, grinning, red eyes glimmering across the grounds. "If he touches Harry's body, I'll—" she began to say but was cut off when Voldemort looked up at the crowd and began to speak.

"You see? Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"

"He beat you!" Ron yelled defiantly, letting go of Hermione and standing taller than ever before.

"He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds," Voldemort countered, laughing, "killed while trying to save himself—"

Suddenly, Neville let go of her hand and ran forward, eyes blazing and wand drawn.

There was a flash and a loud bang, and Hermione yelled when she saw Neville's body skid across the ground in one direction, his wand in the other. Her heart pounded against her chest, and she could feel the fear right down to her bones at the sight of Neville on the ground, unmoving, right there beside Harry. When Neville finally sat up, wincing in pain, she felt a pang of relief that was all too quickly replaced once more by blinding grief when Harry's body remained still.

Her eyes flickered between Harry and Nagini. The snake had coiled itself affectionately around Voldemort's feet while he placed the Sorting Hat on Neville's head and lit it on fire. People began shouting once more, and the Death Eaters cheered. Bellatrix's laugh echoed loudest of all.

Hermione paid attention to every one of them, remembering the faces of each person who had pulled away the silver masks that normally hid their identities. Bellatrix and the Lestrange brothers; Dolohov and Rowle; Lucius Malfoy, who looked as though he were about to be sick. Narcissa Malfoy stood at this side, her gaze focused away from the scene in front of them, directed at another Death Eater—Yaxley—who was walking forward, wand aimed at the ground in front of him.

Hermione screamed when she saw the man was aiming at Harry's body. "No!"

Yaxley shouted, " _Evanesco_!"

Voldemort turned, red eyes wide with panic as Harry's body vanished from sight.

All hell broke loose.

* * *

Voldemort killed Yaxley on the spot, screaming in a rage as an Entrail-Expelling Curse struck the Death Eater. His body flew in one direction, and his organs in another.

Distraction was the opportunity to strike, and Neville did just that. Pulling the Sorting Hat from his head and reaching inside, he brandished the Sword of Gryffindor and sliced the head right off of Voldemort's final Horcrux.

The battle raged on.

Despite having lost the Chosen One, the Order and remaining members of Dumbledore's Army—as well as countless others who stayed behind to fight—were gaining the upper hand. Bodies of innocent and guilty littered the ground. With an unpredictable leader, the Death Eaters were panicking. Only the already insane seemed to have a handle on the situation. Rodolphus and Rabastan cornered Hermione and Ron, separating them across the Great Hall, where they'd retreated to fight. Kingsley Shacklebolt came to Hermione's aid, while Filius Flitwick assisted Ron.

Someone screamed from across the room, and Hermione looked up in time to see Bellatrix hit Molly Weasley with a curse right in front of both Ginny and George.

She didn't witness what happened next to her friends when Rodolphus struck her in the side with a Slicing Hex. She shouted in pain and collapsed to the ground, hand to her waist where she could already feel blood wetting her palm.

"Centaurs are coming!" a Death Eater shouted as he ran into the Great Hall.

Overwhelmed and suddenly outnumbered, Bellatrix rallied near her Dark Lord as he commanded his army. "Devastate them!" he cried out, an angry sneer firm on his face.

Narcissa Malfoy darted across the room and grabbed Draco by the arm, whispering something in his ear. She slipped a Hawthorn wand into his hand, and he stared at his mother, eyes wide, before nodding quickly. When Lucius reached them, the blond family vanished from sight in the familiar swirl of a Portkey.

Bellatrix's laugh drew Hermione's attention. The deranged witch threw something into the centre of the room and colour exploded out of the small object like a fire—a blue twisting inferno that sucked Dean Thomas and Michael Corner into it, vanishing them with a loud bang. Other Death Eaters across the Great Hall followed suit and threw the grenade-like magical objects in various directions.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted as he ran toward her.

Standing, she made to chase after him, but a firm hand gripped around her forearm, nails digging into the carved flesh there left behind by Bellatrix. Turning, her eyes widened at the sight of Dolohov, who gave her an ugly grin.

"Dark Lord says I get to keep you."

" _Reducto_!" she yelled, her wand pressed against his sternum. The Death Eater flew backward into a wall, and she turned to run away from him, desperate to reach Ron, refusing to lose anyone else.

A large figure blocked her path, and she stared up into the eyes of Fenrir Greyback.

"Going somewhere, girly?" he asked with a laugh, his yellowed, pointed teeth showing.

"Mine!" Dolohov shouted, coughing, from where he'd crashed into the wall behind her. Fenrir snarled defiantly, looking up at his apparent competition. Dolohov reached into his robes and pulled out the magical object that Hermione was beginning to think of as a Portkey Grenade, and threw it at her.

"No!" Greyback roared and dove out of the way.

Hermione tried to run in the opposite direction, reaching for Ron, who had been held up by Travers on the other side of a collapsed wall. They made eye contact briefly, staring at one another in abject horror as blue light swirled around her. Ron screamed just as she felt the uncomfortable pull behind her navel, tugging her far away from Hogwarts.

* * *

She landed on cold, damp concrete, her head hitting the ground hard; the cracking sound of bone on cement echoed in her ears alongside a high-pitched ringing as her vision blurred. She saw bars on a door in the corner and, barely conscious, she flicked her wand—Bellatrix's original wand—in an attempt to free herself. Nothing happened.

She blacked out before she could try again.

* * *

When she woke, hours or maybe days later, the room was dark. The wound in her side had been poorly patched up. Her wand was missing.

Before she had a chance to stand to examine her injuries, the door swung open with a loud clank, and Antonin Dolohov stood there, grinning down at her. He was relaxed, clean, and comfortably dressed in a finely made robe that looked nothing like what he'd been wearing during the battle. It made her panic and wonder how long she'd been unconscious.

He said nothing as he stepped inside the room.

Hermione scooted away from him quickly, pressing her back to the cold, stone wall behind her. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off quickly, defiantly lifting her bruised chin and saying, "My friends will come for me."

Dolohov laughed. "Oh, sweet . . . They won't find you. Potter is dead, and so is half your Order. Scattered to the wind and being hunted down like dogs. If any of them make it out alive," he said, kneeling down in front of her, "they'll never be able to find you. This house is under a Fidelius. Got that idea from Dumbledore."

Hermione tried not to widen her eyes so that he could see her fear evident in her gaze. She tried to think of her own research into the Security Charm, but the only out that occurred to her was an image of Peter Pettigrew that flashed through her mind.

As though Dolohov knew what she was thinking, he laughed at her. "I wouldn't count on _my_ Secret Keeper betraying me, little Mudblood."

She glared at him. "You trust someone _that_ implicitly? You're a fool."

He chuckled and ran his knuckles against her jaw. "We'll work on that mouth of yours first, I think," he threatened with a smile. "As for my Secret Keeper, he's the same Secret Keeper as every other Death Eater that has a Fidelius on their home."

A cold chill went up her spine, and tears stung her eyes. Dolohov looked as though he were going to laugh again, so she stared up into his smug face and hissed, "Voldemort."

The Death Eater predictably flinched at the name. He jumped up, looking around as though he fully expected her words to have triggered the Taboo and for someone to Apparate behind him to stab him through the chest. Growling, he turned around and narrowed his eyes at Hermione. "You're going to regret that."

"I'm regretting a lot of things," she said just as his boot connected with the side of her head.

Blackness surrounded her once again.

In her dreams, she thought of Harry . . . _dead_. . . somewhere peaceful, where there wasn't war. Her heart ached for him, grieved for him, and she unconsciously cried out for him.

_"I'll go with you."_


	2. Chapter 2

**May 1st, 2005**

The Fidelius Charm, what had once been the Orders great secret, had been Hermione's downfall.

With Voldemort as the Secret Keeper for every one of his Death Eaters, each safe house had been virtually impregnable by whatever factions of the Order still might have existed out in the world. The fight still went on, she knew. Moved from one Death Eater's home to another, she had gotten very good at eavesdropping. After years of torment and abuse, she was less than a house-elf to most of them—invisible to those who had grown bored with cursing her existence—so she heard when they complained about the resistance.

She had been with Dolohov for less than a month before he had somehow disappointed Voldemort when a revel was ransacked by a ragtag group made up of Dumbledore's Army and Order members. She did not know who had been there, but Dolohov had cursed the Weasley family through his teeth as Hermione was pulled from his grip by Archibald Selwyn, who had apparently been given _her_ as a reward for killing someone important. The Death Eater had not felt much like he had been rewarded when she dug her fingernails into his face and clawed at him, channelling her beloved Crookshanks as she hissed and scratched and spit. Selwyn slapped and then stunned her in retaliation. When she woke up again, her body was bruised and her arm was broken, but Selwyn had vicious-looking scabs down his face. Amused by her attack, Voldemort had forbidden the Death Eater from healing himself.

Hermione was thrown in a cellar and ignored until Selwyn became a disappointment.

And the war went on.

The Wizarding world fell into chaos. From what she could tell, the Wizengamot had been utterly demolished along with any source of proper government. Voldemort reigned as a vicious tyrant, hidden in the shadows and letting his Death Eaters control what little there was to actually control in the world. Many half-bloods were killed or switched sides against their will, Imperiused to the point of mindless servitude, and Muggle-borns were captured and enslaved—like _her_.

She had been alone amongst house-elves and Death Eaters for close to a year when she saw another Muggle-born for the first time. Justin Finch-Fletchley had been brought into Jugson's home, where she had been for three weeks after Selwyn had died in battle, killed by an unknown curse cast by Luna Lovegood of all people. The man had bled internally for seven days, screaming in agony, and no amount of magic was able to detect the spell or counter it.

Hermione laughed herself sick, and then she had been Crucio'd for her amusement.

She kept quiet when Justin was brought in, knowing that speaking would certainly have them separated. She pretended to not know him, kept her eyes downcast, moved around the house in the rag that she had been given to wear, and went about her chores like a house-elf, watching and waiting.

"You're alive," Justin said in astonishment. "Do you know who else is out there? I ran into a group led by some Aurors that escaped the Ministry before it was destroyed. We were on our way to some supposed meet up with the rest of the Order of the Phoenix. We were attacked in the woods," he said, choking on a sob. "They killed Cho and her father, and . . . and Professor Sprout."

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to bury the grief in the same place that she kept the pain she still felt at the memory of Harry's dead body lying at Voldemort's feet. "Is the resistance strong? I heard that—"

"Making friends?" Bellatrix asked, appearing in the hallway and staring down at the Muggle-borns. "Well, well, that won't do. You still think you're _people_."

"Someone should fix that," a deep voice said from around the corner, and Hermione looked up to see a large man standing behind Bellatrix, glaring at her. "That Potter's Mudblood?"

Bellatrix smirked. "Not anymore. Potter's long dead. His body would be rotting in the ground somewhere had we kept it. Of course, the Dark Lord wanted to string the boy up like a flag. Fly his corpse high so that everyone could see," she said, her eyes glistening with delight. "No, she's just another Mudblood now. Not special in the slightest."

The man snarled. "She was with Potter and Weasley . . . when my . . . my poor boy . . ."

Bellatrix sneered. "Don't weep all over me, you blubbering fool! If you want the wretched thing, you'll have to _earn_ her like everyone else. Do something worthwhile, and I'll see to it that the Dark Lord passes her along as a gift. Then you can do whatever you'd like to the little bitch."

The man grinned. "I'm going to set her on fire."

Hermione shivered with genuine fear as she realised who he was: Crabbe's father.

"Fuck you!" Justin snapped, spitting at the Death Eaters.

Hermione dove to protect him, knowing what was coming, but already weak and starved and without a wand, she was thrown to the side easily. Bellatrix laughed and held her down with a Body-Bind as Crabbe's father choked the life out of Justin right in front of her eyes.

Thankfully, Crabbe's father never did anything worthwhile to earn her as a reward. In fact, he had gone and gotten himself killed in battle alongside Goyle's father and Jugson when the Death Eaters tried to overtake the Burrow. Supposedly, the old, crooked house had been abandoned since the Battle of Hogwarts, but vicious wards—likely thanks to Bill Weasley—had been in place and had torn the Death Eaters to pieces, quite literally.

Hermione had been transferred to the Lestranges after that.

Passed around, bartered, gifted, and sold, Hermione saw other Muggle-borns from time to time—some half-bloods as well—used like house-elves, whores, and money. Traded for goods and services or _used_ as goods and services. There was rarely any organisation to it all. Some tried to implement it, but Voldemort's insanity—from what she could gather from the quiet complaints of his followers—seemed to counteract any effort the intelligent Death Eaters put forth in an attempt to rebuild a society.

"It's like he's broken," she had heard Mulciber whisper once. Hermione hid her smile, finding the irony amusing in that the Death Eaters were terrified of Voldemort's instability, still feared him, still thought him immortal. All the while they had a witch under their noses who knew the truth, and they were using her to wash their floors. She didn't even know if she would tell them if they asked nicely.

When the worst of the lot began making threats to her person, staring at her with longing and hunger that made her skin chill in horror, she knew she needed a plan. Escape was impossible. She had tried too many times to no avail and always ended up severely injured; once she had almost died only to be revived via mouth-to-mouth by Thorfinn Rowle—likely because he thought it was funny—and she resolved to never let one of them touch her again.

So during a party where she was placed on display like a piece of art (a piece of art to be mocked and spat on and idly threatened), she passed through the crowd with her eyes on the ground, making her way across the ballroom of Rookwood Keep. Spotting Fenrir Greyback in the corner, she watched as the Death Eaters sneered at him and then at her, and that was when she acted. Approaching the werewolf less than one week from the full moon—at least she assumed by the jittery way he fidgeted—Hermione pressed her palm against his trousers, bared her neck to him, and whispered, "I dare you."

When she woke two weeks later after the Blood Replenishing Potions had finished reviving her and the wounds had been mostly healed, Hermione smiled as Rabastan Lestrange told her that she was lower than Mudblood filth now that she had been infected by a half-breed beast. She would not be a werewolf herself, but the scars on her neck, shoulders, and arms would forever remind the Death Eaters that Greyback had tainted their prize.

None of them wanted to fuck her after that.

She treasured her scars in private, prayed for the survival of her friends, kept her nose clean and her eyes down to avoid conflict, and mostly she tried to stay invisible.

Then they killed Ron.

And she stabbed Alecto Carrow in the cheek with a salad fork when they told her about it.

Alecto tried to kill her right there at the dinner table where Hermione was supposed to have been serving their drinks, but the Dark witch had been stopped by Thoros Nott, who said that Hermione had amused him. He had been strangely kind to her over the years, at least, as kind as a Death Eater could be. Instead of violence and rage, he gave her indifference and chores. A part of her wondered if Thoros Nott would have let her go on her way, finish her chores and grieve in peace, but Rabastan Lestrange had witnessed the attack.

She had been thrown in a dungeon and left there, alone, for six months.

When she turned to greet the elf that normally brought her dinner, the colour and feeling drained from her face at the sight of Theo Nott, standing in the doorway of her cell. She had seen him from time to time over the years. The younger generation of Death Eaters seemed to be always working, often replacing the quickly dying first guard in Voldemort's inner circle. The boy had grown into a man over the years, aged by time and darkness and war. But unlike most, he made eye contact with her when he said, "Get up, Granger. I'm taking you . . . to my home."

She stood slowly, _cautiously_ , looking at his hands and waiting to see if he would strike her, hex her, curse her as she moved. When he did nothing but step aside, she took a chance and spoke. "Am I yours now?"

Nott sighed, broke eye contact as though he were suddenly ashamed. "Tonight, yes," he admitted quietly. "And then tomorrow you'll go to Zabini. Then to Goyle, and Flint, and Pucey, and . . . down through the ranks for the rest of the week."

Her eyes widened. She thrived on routine; it had kept her alive and sane the past . . . How many years had it been? This was different. She had never been with one for just _one_ night. She would stay for weeks, months, sometimes a year or so until they did something to earn Voldemort or Bellatrix's wrath, or lost her in a bet, or needed something and had only Mudbloods to trade. But a plan like this? And so many of the _younger_ generation? Something wasn't right.

"Why?"

Theo Nott looked down. "You're being given away. As a gift or reward, I'm not entirely sure. Someone messed up. You're being given to him in marriage as punishment for his failures. Or maybe you're his second chance. Who can tell what the fuck Bellatrix is . . . No one knows what they're doing anymore."

Hermione ignored most of his ramblings, focusing instead on one thing. "Marriage?"

Theo nodded, clearing his throat. "Married to one of us. But . . . you're to be defiled by his comrades first as a point of shame."

 _Defiled_.

She stared at Theo Nott and tried to remember how if felt to be Hermione Granger, the witch he had known in passing at Hogwarts instead of the Mudblood slave in front of him. Had she stood tall and proud, staring her peers in the eye before she had been forced to do the same to her enemies? Or had she been carefree—as carefree as Hermione could have ever been—and walked with relaxed shoulders and a sparkle in her eyes. Regardless, she tried to find herself and could not help but take a step away from the man, grimacing as she caught the way her body reacted in fear to the word. _Defiled_.

She knew what it meant. She had seen it happen to a few other slaves, but more often to Muggles that were brought in for entertaining purposes. Despite the need for Death Eaters to prove their superiority to Muggle-borns, very few liked to do so sexually. Those that did were looked down on by others, like men who still enjoyed smoking cigarettes when their peers had quit the filthy habit and were now disgusted by the smell of smoke. Before she provoked Greyback, three had developed such an addiction to Hermione, but they were either dead or wishing they were, and each had only been near enough just the once.

Still . . . the word "defiled" and its implication reminded her of fear and sweat and blood, and she tensed when Theo reached out for her.

"We have to go. I have orders."

When she moved away from his outstretched hand, his eyes flickered to the heavy metal collar around her neck, and she understood what he was thinking. She had no true way to fight him should he use magic on her.

Long after her wand had been removed, magic still moved at the tips of her fingers, swirled in the back of her brain, and tingled on her skin. The first man to try and touch her against her will, Amycus Carrow, needed to have all of his skin grown back overnight when her wandless magic had melted it off of his body. She'd been locked away, drowned in Dreamless Sleep to keep her and her magic under control until they came up with a new plan. Weeks later, she had been fitted with the experimental collar that stifled her magic deep inside, preventing her from lashing out. The next time she had seen another Muggle-born, they'd been wearing something similar. Thankfully, her encounter with Greyback was just weeks later, so none of the Death Eaters were tempted to test out her newly repressed magic by trying to fuck her werewolf-tainted body.

"I'll go," she said quickly when she saw Theo reach a hand into his pockets.

He frowned and continued moving, slowly, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it out to her. "You're crying," he said, handing over the bit of cloth.

She hadn't realised.

* * *

He led her to his home, stopping only to greet his father on the way.

Thoros Nott looked at his only son over a stack of parchments and books and said, "You know your duty," before giving one last glance to Hermione. She had been directed toward the fireplace and had to hold onto Theo so she would not collapse onto the brick hearth in the lavish flat when they arrived.

She followed in silence, looking for a way out—always looking for a way out—but saw none. The fireplace sat in a large room with a bed in the far corner, and her skin ran cold at the sight of it. _Defiled_. She reached up to tug at her hair, a nervous habit, only to remember how short it was still. Complaining about her filthiness and attempting to subdue her for his own amusement, Rowle had shaved her head. Her once luscious, wild locks had eventually grown back in, though her curls were traded for limp, unhealthy hair. A part of her wondered if it was because she now lacked the magic to put the spring in each strand.

"You look different." Theo made his way across the room, pulling back the duvet on the bed. "I won't join you," he said firmly, "but I imagine you could use a few years proper sleep." When she eyed him suspiciously, he sighed, obviously tired himself. "There's a guest room connected to this one. I'll be in there. Don't touch the doors. All Death Eaters are required to have blood wards that prevent Muggle-borns from going where they're not allowed. Even if I _were_ to change them, someone would notice and then I'd have to explain that. I don't like explaining my actions."

And then he left.

It had taken her an hour to move from the spot where she stood near the fireplace, waiting for the bottom to fall out of the basket. When she did eventually reach the bed, her dirty fingers, skin cracking around her nails, touched the soft blankets and she flinched away from them. Not trusting a Death Eater, Hermione pulled the cases from the large pillows on the bed and used them as makeshift sheets as she crawled onto the ledge near a window to rest, keeping her eyes on the door until exhaustion forced her to sleep.

* * *

**May 2nd, 2005**

She'd woken and refused to eat when Theo brought her a plate.

At the sight of the unused bed, he briefly looked stricken, but she brushed the thought away. When it crept back in at his concerned expression when she didn't eat, she remembered that his father had never harmed her like the others, nor even really spoke of doing such a thing. A political Death Eater, she assumed, like Lucius Malfoy, who she had seen only once in the years since the war. He had stared at her at the end of a chain that Rodolphus Lestrange kept her on and swallowed nervously before looking away. She heard he had died since then, but never knew what had happened.

Theo took her through the Floo to Blaise Zabini's home, and she was overwhelmed by how warm it smelled. Cinnamon and apples and fire—a strange scent for spring, but it fit the man who actually smiled at her until Theo Nott cleared his throat and gave her a soft shove toward the other Death Eater.

Zabini smiled, and she narrowed her eyes. "Well, Granger. We're going to be good friends, now aren't we?"

"Blaise!" Theo hissed in reproach.

Zabini rolled his eyes. "Relax. I'm not going to touch her."

"You know your duty," Theo said, repeating the words of his father. "Make sure she gets to Goyle's safely. He and I have to deal with Pucey so that there's not a problem later on. You stay with her until he shows up, understand?"

"Yes, _Dad_ ," Zabini said, laughing when Theo glared at him before vanishing into the green flames of the fireplace.

Hermione stared, shocked by their demeanour, mostly Zabini, who seemed relaxed in her presence and almost unaware of the fact that he was supposed to be _defiling_ her.

"Want something to eat? You look starved." When she didn't reply, his casual smile faded. "A bath maybe then?"

At the word, she actually bared her teeth, recalling a night two years ago when Travers's wife tried to drown her in a tub. No sound came out, but Zabini took the warning and put both hands up in supplication.

"Granger," he said, voice soft. "I can't go into details, but you're safe here. I'm not going to touch you."

"Wasn't that the point?" she snapped. "I'm to be defiled by the peers of my future _husband_ ," she spat the word. "Don't think I don't know what's going to happen to me. I _know_ what happens to Muggle-borns who are forced to marry Death Eaters."

She remembered the night that Dennis Creevey had been pulled from a cell next to her when Alecto had thrown a fit about not being able to kill Hermione. She and Nott had fought over the matter, and eventually, Dennis had been called up. Alecto, the last female of her family since her nieces Flora and Hestia had been killed at the Battle of Hogwarts, was forced to marry the Muggle-born boy. He had turned up dead the next day, or so the house-elf had informed Hermione.

Likewise, she had been brought in to help clean Nott Manor once and ran into Alicia Spinnet. When she tried to speak to her fellow former Gryffindor, the girl had pleaded with her silently until Rookwood, her husband, came to fetch her. He had displeased Bellatrix a month earlier, and his pureblood line was supposed to end with him thanks to his new Mudblood bride. Unfortunately, Alicia died of mysterious circumstances, and Rookwood came home from a revel shouting excitedly that he had murdered Filius Flitwick and used that to beg his way back into Voldemort's good graces.

"Who is it?" she asked Zabini. "Who am I supposed to marry?"

He frowned and averted her gaze. "Who would you _want_ to marry?"

"Not a Death Eater!"

He nodded. "I mean . . . if you had a choice, Granger, honestly. I . . . _We_ need to know this. Would you willingly bond yourself to _anyone_ in the world?"

A flash of green eyes flew through her mind against her will, and she flinched at the memory of the colour, so very different from the hunter green drapes that covered Zabini's windows and accented pillows on his sofa. She shook her head, forcing away the tears that she thought had dried up years ago.

"Anyone," she whispered. "I would bond myself to anyone if it got me away from _that_."

Zabini followed her stare to the Dark Mark on his forearm, and he nodded thoughtfully. "That's good to know, Granger, it really, _really_ is."


	3. Chapter 3

**May 3rd, 2005**

Zabini took her to Goyle's the following day, and she finally broke down and ate a sandwich that a house-elf brought her. Zabini grinned smugly as though he had accomplished some great miracle and then pretended to play Exploding Snap with her from across a dusty table. Whenever it was her turn, he would say so and then wait for her to move. When she refused, he smiled and stood, making a move on her behalf and then praising her openly if it somehow beat his previous one. Likewise, he would laugh and say, "Good try," if his move during her turn did not quite overpower his own.

She stared at the man like he was mental and cursed Merlin that someone so obviously daft and dark was also beautiful. Beautiful, except of course, for the brand on his forearm.

"Why's it cold and dusty in here?" she asked quietly, looking at the man from across the table. "Despite being monsters, you Death Eaters are all pretty obsessed with keeping filth out of your homes," she said with a sneer. "With a few exceptions." She thought of Greyback and shivered. "I saw a house-elf and yet this place feels like it's been—"

"None of your fucking business, Granger."

She flinched at the new voice as though she were about to be struck. The tone gave her flashbacks to Hogwarts, oddly not as unpleasant as more recent memories, but when she looked up into the familiar face of Gregory Goyle, she was shocked to see _him_. Brows furrowed, she adjusted her posture to one that was more defensive, clenching her fists into tight little balls.

Zabini looked up and sighed at the other Death Eater. "Can't you be even a _little_ nice?"

Goyle turned and looked at Zabini like he was stupid, which considering what she recalled of the Slytherin, Hermione found terribly ironic all things considered. Zabini had at least made it into Advanced Potions, unlike Goyle who had—along with Crabbe—been duped into eating Sleeping Draught laced cakes so that Harry and Ron could Polyjuice as them in second year.

Goyle began removing his black robes, tossing them to the side. "Has she eaten?" he demanded, ignoring Hermione to the point that he wouldn't even look in her direction despite asking after her welfare. She took immediate notice of the multitude of scars running up and down his arms; battle wounds. "I don't have long and I need to—"

"Had a sandwich," Zabini said. "Then we played cards. She's a very good conversationalist."

Goyle raised a brow. "Conversationalist? Well, she never could shut up at school. And what, pray tell, have the two of you been talking about?"

Zabini grinned. "She says she'd marry _anyone_ to get away from us rotten, awful Death Eaters."

Goyle pivoted, finally looking at Hermione; the disgust on his face when he'd said her name was gone, replaced by something that looked like . . . sympathy. "Do you know who you've been given to then?"

She shook her head, confused by the sudden—and drastic—change in the man.

Goyle swallowed hard. "Good. That's best. Blaise, show her where she can sleep. I'm going to bed," he said and then stormed away, his heavy boots thudding against the dirty tile floor.

Zabini turned and called over his shoulder, "How's Theo?"

"The same as the rest of us!" Goyle shouted back. "Dead if we don't remember our fucking duty!"

* * *

**May 4th, 2005**

She did not see Goyle again, and Zabini escorted her to Marcus Flint's home. The man was not there when they arrived, and Zabini put his fingers to his mouth, a suddenly serious and stern look in his eyes as he commanded her to remain silent while he moved from room to room.

She stayed where she was, looking at the doors and remembering what Theo had mentioned to her about the anti-Muggle-born wards placed in Death Eater rooms. A part of her wanted to test them, but considering she had been living in a dungeon for the better part of a year, she imagined that new security protocols could have been placed since the last time she was allowed to move throughout Death Eater homes to clean, cook, or generally just look miserable enough that it kept her captors amused and placated. The only thing more entertaining than a defeated Mudblood was a crying or bleeding one.

She could no longer hear Zabini, his footsteps having long faded the further from the entry room he got. Compared to Goyle and Nott's flats, Marcus Flint's home reminded her more of Zabini's Manor: large and imposing and likely similar in size to Malfoy Manor. She listened closely for any sound, only to gasp when the Floo roared to life and the massive figure of Marcus Flint stepped out of the flames.

"Look at my present," he said with a crooked grin that caused her to step back, remembering the way Nott had said _defiled_ days earlier. Unlike Nott, Zabini, and Goyle, Marcus Flint looked at her the way most of the old guard did. A mixture of amusement and disgust.

He had a deep scar on the side of his jaw and half of his right ear was missing, the end of the flesh cursed dark purple. Catching her looking at it, he smirked and took a step closer. "You like it?" he asked. "One of your Weasleys gave it to me a year ago. Didn't bleed much. Not like _he_ did."

Anger flared inside of her the likes of which she had not felt in months, and she immediately began to look for something nearby to fight off the oaf when he inevitably struck. The candelabra on the mantle was close enough, but she did not know if she would be faster than whatever curse was likely on the tip of his tongue.

"Maybe I'll give you something pretty to remember me by," Flint said and then reached for his wand. Her eyes were drawn to it, preparing herself for a curse like she had been conditioned to do over the years. She darted for the candelabra but was caught off guard when his hand struck across her face with strength enough to knock her into the wall and to the ground. Most purebloods liked to use magic to inflict pain. She had forgotten that some did not think it dirty to touch a Mudblood as long as they were injuring them.

"Pretty little Mudblood. I know you got scratched up by Greyback, but I can't be fussed. It's been too long. I can't wait to—"

" _Stupefy_!"

Flint collapsed at her feet, crushing the toes of one foot under his left shoulder. She didn't even cry out when she felt one break, her adrenaline running too high.

"Put me back," she whimpered, wiping away angry tears as they fell. "Gods, just put me back in my cell." She missed the dungeon, where no one but house-elves spoke to her, and the Death Eaters upstairs were predictable. They would attack, and call her names, and curse her but rarely touch her. Not like these younger ones who gave her soft sheets, begged her to eat, offered her a warm bath, and asked after her health only to slap her and threaten to rape her like they all did before she took advantage of Greyback.

She didn't realise that she was shaking when she looked up and saw Nott standing over Marcus's body.

"Fuck," he muttered and knelt down in front of her. "You're bleeding."

She flinched when he brought his wand up to heal her face, and he looked distraught at the fear in her eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I was supposed to cut him off at the pass, but he left a meeting early. I couldn't get out without looking suspicious. Where's Blaise?"

The pain on her face from where Flint had struck her faded to a dull throb, replaced by the sharp, hot sting in her toes. She didn't say anything about them; only lifted a hand and pointed to a nearby door, answering his question.

"Blaise!" Nott shouted angrily.

Zabini came rushing back in half a minute later, eyes wide and guilty at the sight of them on the floor next to Flint's unconscious form. "Shit, I'm sorry. I thought . . . Shit."

Nott nodded. "Yeah, you're sorry. You will be. Flint struck her."

Zabini flinched. "I'm so sorry," he said, looking at Hermione. "I swear, I wouldn't have let him—"

"Just Obliviate the arsehole!" Nott snapped impatiently and stormed into the next room where Hermione could hear glass breaking.

* * *

**May 8th, 2005**

Down the ranks of young Death Eaters they went. Flat to flat, home to home, and Zabini and Nott were by her side the whole way. She never saw Goyle again, but had a run-in with Cassius Warrington who had smiled kindly at her while informing Nott and Zabini that Adrian Pucey had been dealt with—whatever that meant—and that no one was suspicious of their actions so far.

She had made the mistake of getting her hopes up and asked, "Are you trying to get me away from here?"

They went silent and turned, giving one another harsh looks before Nott sighed and shook his head. "Granger, just . . . no. That collar around your neck is magically keyed with Tracking Charms and a plethora of other unpleasantries I'd rather not discuss. It's bonded to your magic to keep it repressed. Which means that the only way to get it off of you is to bond that magic to something— _someone_ —else. You _have_ to get married. You're _going_ to get married tomorrow, and . . . you're going to be _really_ fucking upset when you see who its to."

And she was.

She'd had a feeling, of course, considering who she had seen and who she knew was already dead, but when Warrington bid her farewell, and Zabini had given her a look of pity as Nott led her down a long stretch of hallway toward her future husband, Hermione closed her eyes and dug her heels into the soft carpet.

"Please . . . just let me go."

Nott sighed. "It's not that easy."

When the door opened, Hermione's stomach churned at the sight of the man standing in the bedroom. Black robes hung open over an expensive suit. His hair was longer than she had last seen it, years and years ago—so many years. His face had aged naturally, and the dark circles under his eyes gave away any sign that he had escaped the stresses of war due to wealth or family name.

When he made eye contact with her, she felt memories burn their way through her entire body, and she instinctively reached out, clutching at the scars on her forearm where Bellatrix had branded her so very long ago. Looking away from his face, she missed the way he visibly pained at the sight of her, missed the way that Nott shot him a look when he instinctively tried to reach out to help her as she fought against the grip on her elbow.

Reality set in very quickly. She was going to be married. Her plan had failed. She let herself be mauled by a werewolf for nothing. She had let herself serve and bow for years, let herself sit in a dungeon for six months alone. All of it for nothing.

"No! No! No! Anyone . . . _Anyone_ but him . . . not him," she begged and screamed and almost started to cry when her voice took on a vicious tone.

She had been kidnapped by Dolohov, tortured by Bellatrix, beaten by Selwyn and Travers and a number of other Death Eaters; she had been humiliated by Rowle, ignored by Nott, and assaulted by Carrow, Greyback, and Lestrange. She had begged for death countless times, but knowing it was so close now . . . she could not bear it.

And not by _him_.

 _He_ would not be the one to kill her.

"Hello, Hermione," he said.

She glared up into silver eyes, her jaw clenching. "Malfoy."

"Where's Goyle?" Malfoy asked Nott when they stepped outside of the room once she had been manoeuvred inside. It was Malfoy's bedroom, from the looks of it. She glanced at the bed and wondered if her spit would reach it if she tried. She thought of Dennis and Alicia and every other Muggle-born she'd heard of that had been forced into marital bondage with a Death Eater: punishment for the pureblood, an end to their line. Alecto and Rookwood had disposed of their spouses easily enough, but the way that Nott had spoken made Hermione think that Malfoy was special. He had been watched and followed to make sure that he complied with the wedding.

The Malfoys loved their pureblood heritage above all else, and she remembered the way that Lucius and Narcissa had pleaded with Draco to identify Harry when they had been captured and taken to Malfoy Manor all those years ago. They were looking for redemption because they had sunk so low in Voldemort's eyes.

Somehow, Draco had ruined himself further and ended up with her in his bedroom: his future bride. Either that or he had done something well and had requested her as a prize.

She wondered if he would try to kill her right away or if he would play along with the idea of ending his pure line and siring a bunch of half-blood children. She wondered if he would kill them too. Or maybe, if she was very lucky, she could kill _him_ instead.

He had called her by her first name.

She wanted to hit him for it.

She remembered she enjoyed punching Draco Malfoy.

"Goyle's in place," Nott said. "Don't worry about a thing. We've got it all taken care of."

"I have to worry," Malfoy said. "She . . . she looks . . ."

"I know."

"No one touched her? You're certain?"

Nott paused. "Not like _that_. Not since I took her from the dungeon, and my father confirmed about Greyback. None of the older guard would think about . . . They wouldn't risk infection. Flint hit her in the face once, but I took care of it. I tried to get her to sleep in a bed, but she wouldn't; understandable I suppose. Blaise got her to eat something a few days back, but since her run-in with Flint, she's been pretty quiet. She won't bathe either."

"Maybe that's best. Would it look suspicious if she was clean and well dressed for the ceremony?"

She couldn't hear a response, but it was likely that Nott had just nodded. No, clean wouldn't do for whatever grand spectacle the Death Eaters had planned for her. Better to show off Malfoy's filthy Mudblood bride looking like the rubbish they thought she was.

"Stop looking like that," Nott hissed angrily. "Just suck it up for now. It'll all be over soon."

Hermione's breath hitched at the words, and she closed her eyes, clenching her fists tighter than ever. If Malfoy came at her, she would go down fighting. Harry would want her to go down fighting. She would not be a willing participant in Malfoy's bed. She would not let him kill her, not after she had survived for so long. Not while the resistance still existed out there somewhere, even if Harry and Ron were long dead.

"I'll see you in the morning then."

The door closed and Hermione stood, turning around and glaring at Malfoy.

"I won't hurt you," he said softly, his expression indecipherable. "I . . . I can't say much, but I need to ask you a few questions. Theo mentioned that you'd be willing to marry anyone but me?"

Hermione snarled at him. "I would rather _die_ than marry a Death Eater! Though I'm not opposed to killing instead!"

Her viciousness seemed to surprise him, and his eyebrows raised slightly. "That's . . . not what I asked," he said, frowning.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy? Why are you all . . . Why are your friends being nice to me? Why are you . . . I hate you," she said, tears coming to her eyes as she remembered the last time she had seen the man, when he had still been a boy. When they had all still been something close to children. Harry was dead and his body was at Voldemort's feet and Malfoy was there— _right there!_ —looking like he was confused over what side he should be on. It wasn't fair.

"Harry saved your life and you did nothing. You . . . you coward."

Malfoy stared at her in silence. "You might feel differently in the morning. There umm . . . I have to go," he said, looking down at a pocket watch that he pulled from his robes, standing up rather quickly as though he were uncomfortable. "But umm . . . There's food in a cooling cabinet, just there," he gestured. "And it would . . . Please get some rest, Hermione. Just . . . please."

* * *

**May 9th, 2005**

"I loved a girl once," Malfoy said as he led her from the room where he had left her the night before.

She had spent her time trying to escape, eventually attempting to fashion a weapon out of a broken table leg that she sharpened on the brick fireplace. She'd fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning and when she woke up, the table had been repaired, and a sad-looking house-elf was pushing a tea tray in front of her.

"Sipsy couldn't let Miss have her stick," she said, voice full of regret. "Sipsy is sorry."

Hermione felt numb as she walked beside the blond Death Eater, the collar around her neck feeling heavier than ever. She reached up to scratch at it, tugging her arm away from his gentle touch in the process, almost wishing he were holding her forcefully. Malfoy had no right to touch her gently.

"That'll come off soon," he said quietly. "The umm . . . the bonding ritual; it's meant to have me in control of you, but I won't . . . I mean to say . . ." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, clearly anxious. "I loved a girl once."

"So you said," she muttered bitterly.

"Loved her with everything that I was. This war tore us apart, and I've spent . . . I'm different without her. I'm _nothing_ without her. I would marry her, if given the chance."

His tone made her feel sick inside, and she was desperately hoping that this wasn't some awkward confession of love for her. She was eager to point out the plot of Romeo and Juliet if the pureblood was confused over what happens when star-crossed lovers get unpredictable. She was most certainly not his lover and never willingly would be.

"Death Eaters don't know what love is." She knew, of course, that it was a lie. She knew it in the way that she had seen the Malfoys embrace one another in battle, and the way that she had heard Thoros Nott talk about his long departed wife.

Malfoy waited a long moment in silence as they walked until he finally whispered, "Do _you_?"

She closed her eyes. "Not like you care."

"If I do?"

She said nothing.

He whispered an apology under his breath very quietly as they came to a large staircase. Goyle stood there, upright and intense opposite Warrington; Nott and Zabini were at the bottom of the staircase. Below was a massive ballroom filled with various Death Eaters, though very few were of decent ranking, she noticed. The younger guard were all there save for Flint. In the corner of the room stood Travers and Rowle whispering and sipping firewhisky from their glasses as though they were terribly bored. A few people she recognised as non-Death Eaters—but still sympathisers, forced or otherwise—mingled uncomfortably with people in black robes that Hermione didn't know by name. The only Death Eater of any high rank was Dolohov, who was glaring at her possessively. Bellatrix, Rabastan, and Voldemort were noticeably missing.

Her wedding, she thought idly, was attended by low ranked Death Eaters, people who hated her, and strangers who seemed to have been blackmailed into attending. She wondered if any of them were Imperiused. They looked coherent enough to be uncomfortable.

"A toast to the happy couple?" Zabini suggested with a grin when they reached the bottom of the stairs, followed by Goyle and Warrington. Zabini held up a flask with a Slytherin crest carved on the side.

Malfoy glared at him and snatched the flask from his hand. "You think I'm going to do this sober?" he snapped before drinking down the contents. Hermione frowned, shocked by the sudden change in attitude that reminded her immediately of the man she had expected to meet the night before.

"I loved a boy once," she quietly admitted, not really knowing why she wanted to say the words out loud. Maybe because it was her wedding, and she was likely to die sooner rather than later. Maybe it was because she felt like she didn't have a friend in the world, and she needed to invoke the thought of one to put warmth back into her body as she was forcibly led to her doom.

Malfoy chanced a glance in her direction. "That so? Who was he?"

"Doesn't matter," she said, her heart heavy. "Your fucking Dark Lord killed him."

She tried to escape once before the ceremony began, and the entire room reacted, wands drawn on her. Most everyone had laughed at her expense, but she had grabbed a glass out of a man's hand and launched it into Dolohov's face with righteous anger. When the man had stepped forward, she found herself protectively encircled by young Death Eaters.

"Let's get this thing over with, shall we?" Nott suggested. "I'm sure you're supposed to report back to Bellatrix and the Dark Lord."

Dolohov glared at Nott, wiping blood from his face. "I think I'll stick around," he said. "Make sure the little shit consummates his new marriage with his pretty little Mudblood bride. You're not getting out of this like the others, Malfoy. You'll fuck that little bitch, and I'll watch."

Hermione felt Malfoy put a hand on her lower back and watched as he lifted his chin in defiantly.

"I'll remember my duty," Malfoy said sternly. His words somehow pushed into Hermione like a phoenix's song, giving her a strange bit of courage and hope, though she was not certain why. Maybe because Nott and Zabini had said the same thing—Goyle as well—and they had not harmed her when given ample opportunity.

A Death Eater she did not know by name offered to put her in a Body-Bind for the ceremony. Dolohov suggested to Crucio her until she got the idea of escaping out of her mind. Malfoy ignored them all and told the man bonding them to get on with the damned thing already, as he was not feeling very patient.

The ceremony took almost an hour according to the large antique clock that sat in the corner of the room. Hermione kept her focus on it to distract from the disgusting pureblood propaganda that was the welcoming speech to the wedding. By the time vows were spoken, she noticed that no one asked her to say a single thing.

"I vow to take this woman as my wife," Malfoy said firmly. "And on my magic, I shall have no other witch in my bed or heart. None else shall give birth to my heirs. Her pain will be my pain, her burdens my burdens, her joy my joy, and she will forever be my equal."

At that, Travers and Rowle burst into laughter.

Spells were cast and she felt a burning sensation in the hand that Malfoy held as they were officially bonded. When Travers stepped forward to unlock the collar from her neck, she felt her magic flow through her body wildly like a rushing river. She looked around, wondering if she would have a chance to escape now; wondering if the vows Malfoy had just made would stop her from using wandless magic to attack; wondering if she still had the ability to use wandless magic at all. As though he could read her mind, Malfoy tightened his grip on her hand. She turned and looked at him and then followed his gaze which rested on the same clock she had spent the majority of the ceremony staring at.

"Is it done?" he asked bitterly.

"Eager to get on with the rest of your life?" Travers asked, chuckling under his breath.

"You've no idea," Malfoy said, but his voice was suddenly different.

Hermione stared at the man—her husband as of moment earlier—and watched with wide eyes as he turned and smiled at her like a man who loved a woman instead of a Death Eater forced to marry a Mudblood.

"Stay close to me," he whispered as his features began to shift, and his eyes turned bright green.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worked really hard to try and get a little closure for you all for the holidays. ♥ Big thanks to Kelly and Claire for their help on this one!

**May 9th, 2005**

He had not been prepared to see her again. Harry thought he had been, what with detailed planning of her rescue that took the full six months she had been imprisoned in a dungeon—and then some. Seeing the look of hatred and disgust on her face as she set eyes on him for the first time in seven years hurt like the Killing Curse. It was not a stabbing, throbbing pain, but instead was cold and all consuming. It sucked the air right out of him.

Of course, he _had_ looked like Draco at the time.

Now, however, as the Polyjuice began to fade, her eyes widened, and Harry felt consumed by the light in them. Light that he had once worried would have been dulled after years of being held prisoner by Death Eaters. But she was still in there. She was still Hermione. His Hermione now. It felt strange, and nothing like other magic that he had touched in rituals before, but he could feel the bond between them. A bond tied by a Death Eater who had no idea that he had just married Hermione Granger to a very much alive Harry Potter.

Harry took a moment, grasping her hand and placing her palm against his cheek, letting her feel the stubble of his beard grow rapidly in while his jaw squared, shifting from Draco's sharp angles to Harry's softer features.

Tears welled in her eyes. "Oh my god."

He smiled at her, whispering, "You said you'd go with me."

"It's you? But you're—"

"Out of time," Harry interrupted, shaking the blond from his hair just as the crowd around them gasped. His wand was already in his hand, faster than lightning. Pushing Hermione behind him, he said, "Stay close to me." Death Eaters around them drew their wands, expressions of shock, horror, and rage filled the room. Harry, however, was grinning. He had been waiting years to do this. "Now!"

The majority of young Death Eaters spun, turning on their comrades, and the room filling with blinding light of spells being cast all at once.

Harry often hated that fighting was a reflex. He wasn't proud of how swiftly he was able to draw his wand, nor how easily he could disarm the less trained Death Eaters. He did not often enjoy the fact that his blood was set on fire by the rush that came from having someone actually offer him a decent duel, rather than a quick defeat. The war wasn't supposed to have gotten this far. It should have ended years ago at Hogwarts. When the last Killing Curse he had taken to the chest hadn't killed him at all, but sent him to King's Cross where Dumbledore explained everything. Harry had not been pleased to have been used, nor was he thrilled with the idea that he still had much to do. However, the Elder Wand was his by right, and as long as Voldemort thought him dead, Harry could bide his time and strike at the right moment.

Except he had not been able to move.

When he woke, while Death Eaters hovered around their fallen Dark Lord—the blast from the Killing Curse having knocked the man off his feet—Bellatrix Lestrange, in her insanity and anger, unleashed a barrage of spells at Harry's unconscious body. All things he learned much later when Hogwarts was a ruin and Voldemort was King of this dystopian world.

" _Avada—_ "

" _Sectumsempra_!" Harry yelled, slashing his wand out toward the oncoming Death Eater in a quick jerk. While he had been able to perfect the curse over the years, he also knew exactly how to make smooth cuts versus jagged—and more painful—lacerations. Harry's instinct these days was to meet the Killing Curse with the viciousness it and its caster deserved. Blood spurted, painting a nearby wall, and a cry of pain escaped from the man's throat.

Harry scowled at the unknown wizard. He hated not knowing his enemies by face and name. The black Dark Mark on the arm was still red—brand new. Harry could not believe that after everything, people were still willing to become Death Eaters.

The rest, the crowd of people who screamed and drew their wands in a panic, were nothing more than innocent—or not so innocent—bystanders. People who had been Imperiused, threatened into submission, or ordered to look the other way or else. "Get out," Harry ordered them. There was a loud cracking sound of Apparition that Harry knew was backup arriving. His own people, of course, considering Voldemort's would have had access through the Floo Network. The wards that he and Theo had placed up the night before—not to mention the ones they spent hours deconstructing—would allow a one-way access point to their people while preventing Death Eaters from escaping. It had taken Bill and Luna the better part of the six months to get the Arithmancy right on the spells.

The civilians rushed toward the exits where Harry's men were waiting to Obliviate the evening from their memories. Voldemort and his Death Eaters believed Harry to be dead, and he would be damned if they thought otherwise due to the panicked memory of one escaped wizard.

Yanking the wand from a recently fallen Death Eater's hand, Harry spun to look at Hermione, who was standing statue-still, gaping at him. "Hermione, can you still use a wand?" Thrusting the bit of wood in her hand, he watched anxiously as she flicked it a few times, her hands shaking.

"I . . . I . . . it's not working."

"Shit," Theo complained as he approached them, a protective shield of magic he cast engulfing all three of them. "I was afraid of that." Harry turned, getting a look around the room, taking over the shielding while Theo cast diagnostic charms on Hermione to test her magic. "The collar's been on her for too long. It's not permanent, but she'll need to be rehabilitated."

"We don't have time for that now!"

Harry, long used to the biting tone of frustration, was fine ignoring Draco's impatience, but Hermione jumped, aiming the useless wand at the man. Instinctively, Harry reached out and grabbed it from her hand, a panicked look in his eyes. Draco hadn't even flinched as he stared the woman down, his features still shifting back to normal from the Polyjuiced form of Goyle.

"Just our luck! The brightest fucking witch with a wand back in her hand, and she can't even use the damned thing. Potter! Get her out of—"

Seeing a bright flash of light headed straight for the blond, Harry dove forward through the erected shield, knocking Draco to the ground just as an Entrail-Expelling Curse flew above them.

Draco expectedly shoved Harry off of him, punching him in the chest when they regained their footing.  
"Arsehole! Stop doing that!"

Irritated, Harry grabbed Draco by the arm, pulling him inside the shield as Theo took over. "Draco, protect her." At the witch's shocked and appalled expression, Harry sighed. "Hermione, he'll keep you safe."

She shook her head, moving her back up against the shield. "But he's—"

Harry's face softened as he took her hands. "He's my friend."

Her eyes widened. "What?!"

" _Occillopede_!" Harry yelled, shooting a bright red curse at the feet of several Death Eaters, Dolohov amongst them. The ground broke open beneath them, just enough to make them stumble. One tripped over the rubble at his feet and fell forward. The echoing snap of a bone breaking was following by a scream. "Round them up and separate them."

Blaise rolled his eyes as he and Cassius moved in, flanking Harry. "We know the process, Potter."

"I mean it, Blaise! Follow protocol. Innocents are Obliviated and given a Portkey out."

Draco sneered, his lip curling in disgust at the way the supposed innocent people ran from the fray. "Back into a world filled with shit. They'll just end up at another revel when we let them go. Just because they're not murderers doesn't make them less guilty."

"I know," Harry said regretfully. "But if I followed your logic, then _you'd_ be dead as well."

"Maybe I should have been a long time ago. After today, I know I'll wish I was."

Brow furrowing, Harry wanted to reach out to him but knew they didn't have time. Cassius and a few others moved to tend to the civilians, Blaise and Theo covering them as they did.

Harry watched, his heart beating painfully in his chest at the sight of Draco dutifully protecting Hermione as though she belonged to him. As though he loved her. Harry wondered how much of that was some sort of transference. Draco had not been a fan of this rescue mission from the start. It was too dangerous, and it showed the Death Eaters their hand. There was no going back to playing spy after today. Too many of the younger Death Eaters—Harry's people—would be in danger if they even tried.

Hermione did her best to ignore Draco entirely. "Are they . . . Are they . . . Are Malfoy and these others in the Order?"

Theo scoffed, offended, and sarcastically muttered, "Order."

"There is no Order, Hermione," Harry told her. "Or well . . . there is, but we're not apart of it."

Blaise dared to grin, the cheeky bastard. "He doesn't take to sacrifice very well anymore, this one. Terrible lamb."

Theo laughed. "Wolf in sheepskin, if you ask me."

Harry narrowed his eyes at them both. "I didn't. Hermione, I'll explain everything once we're out of here and back to our safe house.

Her lip quivered and Harry pulled her into his arms as she whispered, "Safe?"

"Yes. Safe. I will keep you safe, forever."

She pulled away from him just a few inches, looking up into his eyes as though she needed to constantly verify the exact shade of green. Her eyebrows raised half an inch. "We're married."

The smallest hint of colour peeked above the line of hair where Harry's beard was on his cheek. He cleared his throat and smiled at her. "Yeah. We are."

Spells stopped flying and everyone stopped moving. Harry let her go to look over his shoulder. The battle was over. What people survived were pinned up against a wall and held there magically by Theo, while Blaise dutifully collected their wands.

"What about them?" Hermione asked, leaving Draco's side to follow Harry as he walked through the rubble, staring at the people they had captured.

Draco shoved his way between Harry and Hermione, pointing his wand at the men against the wall. "Civilian, bribery, slave trade," he said, going down the line and listing the status of each, "civilian, murder, torture _then_ murder, and my personal favourite . . ." He trailed off as he shoved the tip of his wand up under the throat of Thorfinn Rowle. He shoved hard, causing the tall Death Eater to choke.

Blaise sighed. "Can you not get such joy out of this?"

Draco glared at the Death Eater at his mercy. "This prick threatened to rape both Astoria and Pansy when they spoke out of turn."

Harry shook his head, helping the civilians down from the wall so that Theo didn't have to release the whole group and potentially lose control of their enemies. "Just deal with him." He turned just in time to see Hermione's eyes widen as Draco and the others executed the prisoners with non-verbal Severing Charms. Harry frowned, anxious as he reached out for her. He let out a heavy sigh of relief when she took his hand without hesitation.

They said nothing as Harry's men moved through the room, killing what enemies were still alive, and sparing the rest. Hermione's gaze rapidly followed the crowd, looking for familiar faces and frowning when she saw few. The recognisable light of Portkeys could be seen in the foyer, where Cassius Warrington was sending the civilians as far away from the scene as possible.

Hermione anchored herself against Harry's chest and soaked up the feel of him. Harry, likewise, pressed his lips to the top of her head and breathed in deep. "I'm so sorry."

She shook her head, silently begging him not to say another word.

"Harry?" Theo said, looking over his shoulder. "Dolohov is contained like you asked."

Harry stiffened in Hermione's embrace, his magic rolling over his skin in a wild burst of anger that felt like static. He gently pried Hermione away from him, brushing his thumb against her jaw. He did not release her until Draco was nearby, trusting her into the blond's care. "Everyone to the exits. Have the rooms all been cleared?"

"Pucey's down," Blaise said. "Shame too. He was a good little Imperiused puppet."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You saw what he and Flint did to those Muggle-borns."

Blaise held his hands up in supplication. "Not saying they didn't deserve it. Just . . . few Death Eaters take so well to the Imperius these days. Makes it a damn bit easier to have a man on the inside."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he slowly approached the corner of the room where Theo had Dolohov pinned to the ground. "We won't have that anymore. It's us against them now."

"Better hurry," Theo muttered. "Once the wards fall, backup is likely to show. Distraction or not, we'll need to be well out of here and back at home base."

"Harry?" Hermione called out, looking panicked.

He pivoted to look at her. "You're safe. I swear it. Draco and the others will take you back to our camp. I'll be just behind you." He noticed the way her gaze fell on Dolohov as though she were contemplating whether or not she wanted to intervene.

He hated taking this revenge from her, but from the look of pure hatred she had on her face, Harry knew that they didn't have time for what she might _like_ to have done to the man responsible for her imprisonment. He gave a nod to Draco and watched as he and the others vanished themselves and Hermione away with a Portkey. Only Theo remained behind.

"Everyone secure?"

"We did it," Theo said, relief evident in his tone. "There's not much time."

Harry knelt down in front of Dolohov, smirking as the man stared at him in shock and anger. "I don't have enough time to hurt you like I want to," he said. "But you'll still suffer for what you've done to her." Standing back up, Harry clapped Theo on the back.

Theo removed a Portkey from his pocket and tapped it with his wand. "Ready when you are."

Harry aimed his wand at Dolohov. " _Fiendfyre_!"

An inferno the size and shape of a basilisk emerged from the tip of Harry's wand, it's glaring eyes set on the terrified Death Eater in front of it. Harry wanted to watch. Felt it was his duty to make sure that the entire place was swallowed in flames, but he knew that they needed to leave.

" _Portus_!" Theo said, gripping Harry's shoulder as the magic carried them away.


	5. Chapter 5

**May 9th, 2005**

The second that Hermione's feet found purchase on the ground, she stumbled to catch her balance, gripping onto the bicep nearest her. Taking in slow, deep breaths, she mentally reminded herself that she was only having such a bad reaction because it had been years since she had used a Portkey—and not the fact that the last time she had used one, it had been against her will.

When she was certain she was not going to be sick, she took notice that inches below where her fingers wrapped against the arm she had a grip on was a Dark Mark. Jerking her hand away in disgust, her expression did not change when her gaze moved up to the Death Eater's face.

Draco Malfoy sneered at her, though for a brief second it looked as though he were genuinely hurt by her reaction. "Sorry to disappoint," he hissed before making a grand show of wiping his hand over the skin that she had touched as though she had left something behind. "Really wish you had taken that bath that we all insisted on."

Panic rising in her chest, she looked around to find herself surrounded by Death Eaters and strangers. Not unaccustomed to Dark Marks and people that she did not know, it was the new _surroundings_ that made her anxious and fearful. They were in a hospital. A decidedly _Muggle_ hospital. "H-Harry . . ."

"I'm here," he said from behind her just as he appeared with Nott, the smell of smoke clinging to the heavy cloak that he wore. The black robes of a Death Eater had been discarded in the middle of the battle. She gripped the lapels of his cloak tightly, pressing her nose against his neck. Hermione let out a sigh of relief when his hand came down gently on the back of her head, fingers gently combing through her short locks. "You're safe. I'm not going anywhere."

"Unfortunately, for the rest of us," Nott said with a pinched expression, "we cannot say the same. Everyone, check in with Lavender before you make your way to the fourth floor. No one gets into a bed without being scanned for trackers."

"Draco," Harry whispered over Hermione's shoulder, and she turned around to see the blond storming down the length of hallway, a full yard ahead of the other young Death Eaters. Zabini glanced at his friend and then back to where she and Harry were embracing one another, and he whistled low, shaking his head.

"Hermione, stay here," Harry pleaded, looking torn as he left her side to chase after Malfoy. She did not bother to linger on the fact that he had just promised to not leave her, instead, her gaze followed after him curiously.

She glanced at Nott, sidestepping toward the Death Eater that she felt the least threatened by. "What's happening?"

Zabini's smile unnerved her. "Dra-ma," he said as he turned down the hallway, shedding his cloak in the process and tossing the silver mask against a wall. He did not bother to look back as it cracked when it hit the floor.

"Just go back to your _wife_!" Malfoy snapped loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the hallway. Harry's expression was a mixture of guilt and irritation. Hermione recognised it easily from Hogwarts when he and Ginny would argue about how public she was about their displays of affection. Harry had never been one for attention unless it was Quidditch related, and having people observe him in his private moments was enough to trigger his very short temper. Hermione's lips parted in suspicion as she contemplated the few reasons why Harry would be looking at Malfoy with that exact expression.

"Are they—?" she began but was cut off when a familiar face appeared in her line of vision. "Luna."

"Hello, Hermione," the blond witch said with an ethereal smile that soothed Hermione in ways that were unexpected. _Also_ unexpected was the way that Nott leant down to place a gentle kiss on her friend's lips. "I'm glad you made it back with no injuries."

"As am I," Nott said affectionately. His relaxed smile shocked Hermione, but the easiness faded all too quickly, leaving behind the severity that he had carried with him since he pulled her from her cell. There was tension still in his voice as he asked, "Are the others still gone?"

Luna nodded her head, causing the bells that were woven into her braid to jingle a bit. The sound, light and tinkling, was startling against a backdrop of chaos and commotion. "They're fine," she assured him, gently resting her palm on his wrist, the tips of her fingers touching the bottom edge of his Dark Mark. Hermione stared at the contact as though waiting for something terrible to happen at that exact moment. "Our plan was very detailed."

"Your plan?" Hermione found herself asking, bringing her gaze back up to Luna's face.

The blonde smiled sweetly at her. "Oh, yes. We've all been working very hard to rescue you. Once we discovered that you were still alive, that is."

It felt like the breath had been knocked out of her. They had thought her dead. How long? Did they grieve? Had there been a funeral? Was there some unmarked grave with an empty casket buried beneath freshly upturned earth somewhere in England? Scotland? She blinked as something occurred to her. "Where are we?"

"Goddamnit, Draco!"

"Fuck off!"

Hermione jumped at the volume, looking down the hall to spot Malfoy literally shoving Harry away from him. Before the two could, presumably, come to blows, someone stepped between them. Hermione gasped at the sight of long red hair.

Malfoy angrily jerked away from Ginny when she placed a hand on his shoulder. He stormed down the hallway and out of sight. Ginny gave Harry a look that was both reproachful and sympathetic. She said something that Hermione could not hear, and Harry nodded his head before turning back the other way. Ginny raised her gaze down the length of the corridor and her eyes met Hermione's. She gave her long lost friend a sad little smile filled with the promise of catching up soon before she turned on the spot and dashed after Malfoy.

Automatically, Hermione held her hand out for Harry when he was within reach. The touch of his skin brought an instant comfort to her, and she stepped into his side, pressing herself against the length of him as though she were seeking warmth in the cold.

"I have to go," Nott said, hugging Luna tightly. "I love you."

"I'll be with you once—"

"I know," he said, cutting her off. He gave a dutiful look toward Harry, who nodded as though giving silent permission to leave, before doing just that, headed in the direction where Malfoy and the other Death Eaters had gone.

"Pembroke."

Hermione lifted a brow, looking at Luna as she spoke. "What?"

"Before. You asked where we were. Pembroke. I'm not certain the exact location. Street names and such. But the hospital where we live is quite comfortable." She looked around the hallway, reaching out to touch the wall as though the building were sentient. "It's been very good to us. And the Muggles built the foundation very deep. It really helped when we had to anchor the runes and charms."

"You made a Muggle hospital unplottable?" Hermione asked. "That's how you're staying hidden?"

"Unplottable, Fidelius . . . You name it," Harry answered her. "Bill even figured out a way to turn a Muggle-Repelling Charm into one that targets the Dark Mark instead of Muggles."

"It proved to work quite well when Theo and the others were Confunded. They were inside the building when we set the charm, you see." Before Hermione was able to ask another question, Luna continued, "Of course, we had to alter their Dark Marks. Just a bit of Blood Magic. Nothing to worry about." And then, with the excitement of a child opening their first present Christmas morning, she said, "I built a tattoo machine."

"It's pretty brilliant," Harry said with admiration. "Luna figured out how to infuse Blood Magic into ink and use that to slightly alter the Dark Marks. It allows Draco and the others to come and go like the rest of us, but it keeps out the bad sort like Bellatrix and her Death Eaters."

"Bad sort," Hermione mumbled. She had never known a Death Eater to be a good sort. There had been Snape, of course, but even he was not innocent in everything. When something else occurred to her, blinking in confusion, Hermione pulled away from Harry and met his gaze. " _Bellatrix's_ Death Eaters?"

Before he could answer, the light of portkeys shone down another corridor, and they all turned to see another group of arrivals appear, all led by a scruffy-looking Neville Longbottom. Hermione's heart leapt at the sight of her old friend, alive and looking just as physically hardened by battle as Harry, if not more so. His hair was cut shorter than she had ever seen it, and there was a long, pink scar down the right side of his cheek.

"You did it," Neville said with a bright grin when he spotted Hermione. "It worked."

Unlike the others, who gave her a bit of space—other than Harry—Neville swooped in and pulled her from Harry's side, wrapping her in a hug that was both comforting and suffocating at the same time. As though sensing her distress, he released her back into Harry's arms, looking a bit concerned. "Sorry. I'm just so happy to see you, Hermione. We'd hoped for the best, of course, but Harry was a right mess leading up to it. I've never seen him so anxious before."

"How many?" Harry asked, changing the subject.

Neville looked up, his expression switching to that of a soldier reporting to his commander. "Sixteen Death Eaters, mostly new ones. But _she_ showed up right at the end like we'd hoped. Got one look at me and went off, flinging Killing Curses and such. The Mirage Charm still works. She hit two walls before figuring out that we'd tricked her. Killed two of her own in a fit," he said with an amused grin. "None of ours went down. A few scratches from dodging curses is all. We got out just in time."

"Did she know?"

"I reckon so," Neville said with a nod. "Stopped in the middle of everything and just started screaming. Looked mad, she did. Er . . . you know what I mean. Madd _er_. Proper mental. Told everyone to take off back to London. She's becoming predictable."

Sighing, Harry ran a hand through his hair. "That actually worries me. Bellatrix is crazy, but that she's so easily led makes me wonder if she'll suddenly become _un_ predictable. It's been nice being one step ahead of her lately."

Hermione listened to their every word, casually watching as the soldiers with Neville—because what else could she call them?—walked by, giving nods of respect to Harry as they passed. She thought she recognised a few from Hogwarts, but it had been so many years, and she could not put names to the aged faces of people she might have once shared a classroom with. They all, however, _clearly_ knew _her_. Many smiled at her, some looked relieved, others stared at her in awe as though she were some great mythical thing that they were not certain had truly existed before now. A bundle of emotions swelled up in her throat when she realised that every last one of them had left the safety of their home today in an effort to rescue her by distracting . . . _Bellatrix_?

"Where's Volde—?"

Before she could finish speaking, Harry's hand gently clamped down on her mouth. Neville stared at her in shock. Hermione's eyes widened when she watched Luna slip herself into the man's arms comfortably. Her eyes widened further when she watched Neville lean down and kiss the blonde rather enthusiastically in greeting, as though he had not noticed her before now.

Hermione blew out a breath in shock, only then realising that Harry had not only let go of her mouth but had been speaking to her the entire time. "What?"

He sighed softly. "The taboo is still in effect on his name. We thought that perhaps Bellatrix would do the same with hers, but we got word back that she didn't know how to actually cast the spell. Only You-Know-Who did, and he kept it and a bunch of other spells close to his chest. Unfortunately, Bellatrix still tries to use the taboo to track us. We had to Memory Charm some of the children who kept forgetting not to say it. The little ones that have been born during the war have never even heard his name before."

She had so many questions. Why were they so concerned with Bellatrix? They were speaking as though Voldemort was dead, but Hermione knew for a fact that he was not. She had served meals to Death Eaters as they gathered around, talking about their Dark Lord and his desires for the future of their destroyed world. Had that all been a diversion? Were they lying? Why? Hermione wondered about the state of their world, both magical and Muggle. How many had died? Was the Order still functioning? Harry and the young Death Eaters seemed to act as though it was, but they weren't apart of it?

"She needs to rest, Harry," Luna said. "She's thinking too much. I could find some parchment. Perhaps you would like to write down your questions, Hermione? We found pens here. They're much more efficient than quills." The look of amusement was back in Luna's gaze, and Hermione could not help but smile at her old friend.

"I would appreciate that, Luna. Thank you."

Neville reached a hand out to her, and Hermione took it, smiling again when he gently squeezed her fingers. "We'll see you after you've had some proper sleep, yeah? We usually eat meals together in the canteen a few floors down, but not everyone joins, so don't feel obligated to come down. Take as long as you need to . . ." He looked at her—searching for wounds, she realised. He wanted to say _recover_ , but when he found no injuries, he smiled and said, "adjust" instead.

Hermione let herself relax at his words. After spending six months with no company other than a house-elf that brought her meals, being around so many people in such a short amount of time was testing her nerves. Aside from Harry, everyone made her anxious, even her friends. Their voices were too loud, their smells were all wrong, and most of them looked at her with such relief that she felt as though she were already letting them down. She was not the same Hermione they knew, and she was certain that the relief would change to pity or disappointment when they figured out she was essentially useless to their cause.

Closing her eyes when she felt Harry press his lips to the top of her head, Hermione tried to block out the rest of the world and just let his touch and his magic soothe her worries. She knew a part of it was the fresh marriage bond, but she could not think of the consequences of that now.

"Let's get you settled in."

"Where will I go?" Hermione asked, ashamed of the fact that, despite Harry holding her, the first thing she imagined was a dungeon—a cellar like the one she had recently come from. The second thought had been of the small cupboard that she had been forced to sleep in when Amycus Carrow owned her. He called it her _cage_ , but she had secretly loved it because it made her think of Harry, giving her strength when she needed it most—when they had suppressed her magic. If Harry could live in a cupboard then so could she.

"You'll stay in my rooms," Harry said, pushing a lock of hair from her face as though it was still long and curly instead of the short, limp mess that it was. "I have a corner of my own upstairs. It used to be a set of offices, not rooms where patients stayed. There are three rooms altogether. I keep the doors facing the hallway locked more often than not, and the doors that connect the rooms on the inside are usually left open. Makes it kind of feel like a flat." He smiled at her. "Almost like life is normal. You can have the bedroom to yourself, if you'd like. My office is right next to it." At her raised brow, Harry laughed. "I know. _Office_. I mostly use it as a living space. There's a bookshelf, tables, and Ron and I figured out how to install a cooker. The loo across the hall serves as my sink and shower."

Her fists tightened at the mention of their friend. "So it's true?" she asked quietly, already knowing the answer. When Harry said nothing, she cleared her throat. "Did he . . .?" _Suffer_ , she wanted to ask. Did Ron suffer when he died?

"He died a hero," Harry said, leaving it at that. "Come on. You've had a long morning."


	6. Chapter 6

**May 9th, 2005**

"How did you . . .? How are you alive?" Hermione gripped Harry's cloak tight in her hands, a part of her terrified that the past week had been a hallucination, that she had finally cracked down in that cellar. Had she been broken after years of being strong enough to handle Death Eaters and werewolves and having her magic taken away but not strong enough to survive solitude? A tear escaped when she closed her eyes at the feel of Harry's lips pressed to her forehead. Had he always been so warm? "Are you really alive?"

"I'm alive. You're alive." Harry sounded as though he were trying to rein in the massive relief in his tone. "Come sit down, and I'll explain everything." He watched as her gaze passed over the bed to a small desk in the corner. "Luna never did get you that pen," he remarked with a small smile. "Do you need to write your thoughts down? Questions and—"

"No." Hermione moved across the room, taking a careful seat at the foot of the bed.

"Riddle killed me in the forest," Harry said, watching the way her eyes widened. He waited, hoping that she would not panic but instead just absorb the information because there was quite a bit of it. When she looked at him like she was waiting for him to continue, he did. "He killed his own Horcrux, actually. I went to this . . . place. It looked like King's Cross, but I imagine it would look different to everyone."

"Heaven?"

Harry shook his head. "Definitely not. But not . . . It wasn't all bad. Dumbledore was there, so take from that what you will. We had a chat, and he admitted to knowing that I would need to die. That's one of the reasons we're no longer in the Order. I refuse to let people treat me as a weapon." His heart leapt a little at the proud look she gave him. "Anyway, I chose to return. I knew Riddle still needed to be killed, and I . . ."

He knelt down in front of her, taking her hands in his as he swallowed hard, clearing his throat. Married or not, telling Hermione that he had loved her even back then was a struggle. They had both been through too much since Hogwarts, and he had been warned by both Ginny and Luna that if they were able to successfully rescue Hermione, she might need a long time to recover—if she ever did.

Looking at her now, it was almost as though his Hermione was there, hidden behind a shield that she had built for herself, to keep safe over the years. Instead of the muscle and beard and angry scowl that Harry had developed as his own personal armour, Hermione had created an image of a careful, hesitant, and sure-footed woman, eager not to make a noise. Except Harry had been told that she stabbed Alecto Carrow in the face with a fork, and even now, he could see that fire somewhere in the depths of her brown eyes.

"When I was unconscious, Bellatrix hit me with a bunch of spells. Riddle fell too, you see. She thought he'd died and decided to just attack my body in revenge. He woke up first and ordered Narcissa Malfoy to check that I was alive. What I hadn't known was that before I walked into the forest, Riddle told Bellatrix about what we'd done. That you, Ron, and I had destroyed most of his Horcruxes. He was planning on using my death to make another."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she froze stiff, her hands clenching tightly. "No."

"He didn't succeed," Harry said quickly to comfort her worries. "But he tried. Narcissa overheard that conversation. She Imperiused another Death Eater to vanish my body, but just as he aimed his wand to do so, she threw an emergency Portkey on me. It was a failsafe that she had created for Draco, but when she realised that not only was I alive but that Riddle was going to try and make another Horcrux, she saved me.

"The Portkey took me to Andromeda Tonks's house. I didn't fully recover from Bellatrix's attack for another two months. By then, Hogwarts was destroyed, the world was in chaos, and . . . you were gone." Harry pressed his lips against her fingers and exhaled. "I swear to you, Hermione, I would have come looking for your right away, but even when I was better, we had no idea how to find you."

Hermione closed her eyes and let the tears fall against the skin of her cheeks. "For so long . . . I thought you were dead."

"If I could have told you differently, I would have. Riddle and Bellatrix still think I'm dead. We've spent years trying to keep it that way. I rarely leave, but when I do I have to go under Polyjuice or . . . other means." Before she had a chance to question those means, he went on speaking. "Right now, she thinks that the prophecy about the Chosen One passed on to Neville, which is why he led an attack earlier to distract her. She likely would have been at the wedding, but we purposely let it slip that Neville was planning an attack to draw her away from the ceremony. We needed a diversion so that we could get you out of there."

Hermione licked her lips and fell silent. Harry watched patiently as she worked through the information.

While she stared at their joined hands, Harry's gaze fell over the scar on her neck left behind by Bellatrix's blade. The purple line was buried beneath the scar tissue left behind by Greyback. It had only been a rumour for them, but Harry was insistent on finding out every bit of detail of what happened to Hermione over the years. Little came back other than speculation, but Theo had confirmed that Greyback had attacked Hermione. It made him sick inside to think of what she must have gone through. Seeing Bellatrix's scar still reminded him that Hermione had been sacrificing herself for him for far too long.

"Why does it sound like Bellatrix is in charge?"

"Because she is. Without my body as proof of his victory, Riddle lost his mind. He decided to try and use my _supposed_ death to make a Horcrux. Apparently, there _is_ something worse than making a Horcrux: trying and failing. Riddle's soul was already so broken that when he attempted to create another one without a proper murder to draw from, it turned on him. We don't know all the details, but one of our inside sources claims that Bellatrix got him out and put herself in charge of his Death Eaters. Those who wanted to question her couldn't because she had the numbers of people who were too terrified to stand against her. Riddle is alive but . . . barely human, and that's saying something all things considered." Harry stood up, joining her on the bed, though he kept a hold of her hands. "He's useless, magically depleted, but Bellatrix has been trying to revive him. She just hasn't quite figured out how."

Hermione let out a shuddering breath. "I never knew," she whispered. "I never knew anything that happened unless they told me—taunted me. What does the rest of the Wizarding world think?"

Gently squeezing her hands, Harry sighed. "Hermione, there is no . . . The wizards that stuck by Riddle and Bellatrix are little more than puppets. There's less than a thousand _magical_ people left in Britain. We'd all fit inside of Hogwarts," he said gravely. "That's just an estimate, of course, but—"

"Why did you say it like that? Magical people. What about the Muggles?"

Harry looked away from her and cringed. He let go of her hands, which he realised immediately was a mistake because she began to panic. Her breathing increased, and instead of holding onto him, she gripped the blanket beneath her like it was keeping her from floating away. Frowning, Harry gently placed a hand on her cheek. "The Death Eaters broke the Statute of Secrecy."

Her breathing normalised, but her eyes widened in horror.

"They were . . . unhinged when the battle ended. By the time I recovered, the Lestrange brothers had publicly executed the Prime Minister. It was seen by hundreds right outside of Downing Street. Muggles caught it on camera. It was a fiasco." Harry remembered being told about the events by a panicked Arthur Weasley. Riots had broken out amongst the Muggles, and leaders from religious institutions all around the country had practically gone into hiding rather than try to provide answers to questions that they did not possess.

"Aurors were sent in, but Riddle, of course, had previously controlled the Ministry, so that did little good. The last few members of the Order met with the International Confederation of Wizards, trying to tell them what had happened, but they weren't hearing it. Britain lost control of Riddle, and so the rest of the world was content to let us be destroyed by the mess that they thought we'd all helped create.

"There was talk about sending over some Americans to help Obliviate London. Apparently, they're good at that sort of stuff. But it was too late. Death Eaters were still at large, and worse, Greyback unleashed hell on the cities." He watched her when he said the werewolf's name, trying to gauge whether or not she was traumatised by her attack. He relaxed only slightly when she didn't so much as flinch.

"The first full moon after Hogwarts fell, and there were . . . over seventy-five new werewolves created, more civilians dead. The second full moon more than tripled those numbers. So every Magical country outside of Britain decided to pull their resources. Muggle presidents and leaders all around the world were brought in. Muggles think that there was a nuclear war in England. The entire country is sealed off by wards that are unlike anything we've ever seen. No one in or out."

Hermione shook her head. She pulled away from Harry to run her hands through her hair, rubbing at her temples. "How is that possible?"

"A hell of a lot of wizards and witches came together to trap us in. We found one small loophole through Ireland. That's why we based out camp in Pembroke. There used to be a Muggle ferry that had docks here. There's another in Holyhead, actually, and we use that one as a diversion when we want to sneak people out. Has to be done the Muggle way to avoid being caught, and passing through the break in the wards usually knocks any passengers on the boat unconscious for about twenty minutes, but they get out. Mostly families and children, older folks that can't go on fighting.

"Minerva's on the other side and helps set them up there. Unfortunately, Ireland was willing to only take in refugees so long as they were unconnected to either Death Eaters or werewolves. Which means that people who've been attacked, even if they aren't infected, aren't welcome." His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed, still angry after all these years. "The _Order_ agreed to leave behind hundreds to save thousands."

"I can't leave," Hermione whispered in understanding, reaching up to touch the scars that Greyback had left behind—scars that she had purposely provoked him into giving her. "I can never escape."

Harry put his arms around her, exhaling when she moved into his embrace without hesitation. "I will never leave you. You're here with people who don't leave _anyone_ behind. We're family here, Hermione. All of us."

"The Weasleys?"

An old, familiar pain ran through his chest: lingering guilt. Ron would have surely rolled his eyes at him had he lived to do so. As for the others . . . "We had to get Molly out. Arthur died in that first year, and Charlie was taken down as well. We begged George to get their mother out of Britain. She didn't want to leave because Bill wasn't allowed out. Fleur stuck behind as well, of course, which meant that any children they ever had would also be trapped here. Molly wasn't healthy, though, and we were worried. With no Wizarding society, that meant no St. Mungo's. What Healers chose to stick with us weren't capable of tending to everyone, and Molly was killing herself trying to help. Ron and Ginny stayed behind for their own reasons."

There was a gentle knock at the door, and Hermione stiffened in his arms. "It's probably Luna," Harry told her, very carefully prying away from her side. He kept his wand in hand so that she could see he was armed. Harry felt perfectly safe behind the wards on the hospital, but he wanted Hermione to feel safe too. Opening the door, he smiled at the floating tray in front of him. Taking it in hand, he closed the door behind him. "There's a little bit of food here. And there are some potions if you need them. Calming Draught and something to help you sleep."

Hermione resolutely shook her head. "I don't want to . . . I need to be in control."

"I understand." Harry set the tray down on the desk in the corner, taking one of the glasses and showing Hermione that it was empty so that she would know he was not going to dose her unsuspectedly. Instead of pouring water from the pitcher on the tray, he used his wand to fill the glass.

Hermione took the drink when he handed it to her. She swallowed one small sip, licking her chapped lips. "Why did you think I was dead?"

Harry winced, the memory still fresh in his mind. She took notice. "If you had undercover Death Eaters, how come it took so long for anyone to . . ."

"Because Draco and the others . . ." Harry pulled the chair from his desk, placing it in front of her and taking a seat. He briefly glanced at the Calming Draught on the tray, wondering if he could do with a few drops himself. "It took a few years to get them safe. Never mind that we needed to figure out if we could trust them. Draco we knew we could because of Narcissa. She left her family in order to save me. Showed up at Andromeda's house to explain everything. We had to go on the run almost immediately, and I was barely able to move let alone hold a wand."

"You trusted her?" Hermione quietly asked.

Harry nodded. "Those witches kept me alive. So when Narcissa wanted to get Draco out, what little resistance we had created was trying to do that. That and save the people who had been attacked by werewolves, and the Muggle-borns that had been captured, and . . ." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He scratched at the back of his neck and then rubbed his shoulder, the tension there felt permanent. "We didn't even know where to look for you because Riddle had every Death Eater property under a Fidelius."

"Dolohov was pretty proud of that one," Hermione mumbled bitterly. "He's dead?"

Harry clenched his fists. "Very."

She cleared her throat. "Go on."

"We only got in when the younger Death Eaters began buying up their own property. Bellatrix couldn't have Riddle be the Secret Keeper on _those_ homes, otherwise, she'd reveal that he was a useless Dark Lord. So they put up nasty wards instead. What places we _could_ get into, we raided searching for you. We tore Malfoy Manor to the ground."

A very small hint of a smile played at the corner of her mouth. "I'd wondered why they never took me there."

Harry, however, was far from smiling. He waited for her to take another sip of water. When she was done, he took her glass and set it aside so that her hands were free to hold. His callused thumbs ran over her knuckles reverently. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. "You were . . . You were murdered, Hermione. They killed you in front of Ron and Neville." His eyes were wet as he spoke, years older than he really was—aged by tremendous grief. "I was . . . I didn't handle it well," he said so quietly that she almost missed it. She leant into his hand when he reached up to touch her hair.

She remembered the amused look on Rowle's face when he removed every lock of hair from her head. At the time, she had assumed it was in an effort to humiliate her or remove what little identity she had. "They Polyjuiced someone else."

Harry nodded. "But we didn't know. They burned the body, so none of ours could have seen when the Polyjuice faded. That happened three years ago. And then a little over six months ago, you attacked Alecto Carrow in front of a gathering of Death Eaters. Someone at that table recognised you and passed the message along to us that you were alive. He said he would keep you safe, where no Death Eater could get to you."

Actually shocked, Hermione's mouth fell open. There was only one Death Eater that actually tried to prevent her from being harmed that night. "Nott. Nott is a . . . spy?"

"Theo's father. He's not the most likeable person," Harry said, his nose twitching in disgust, "and he's complicit in a lot of terrible things that have happened, but he knows they can't hold out forever. He suspected that Theo had switched sides, which he had, and so Thoros Nott was looking for a way out himself. _You_ were that way. When we found out that you were alive, we put together a plan to get you out. Unfortunately, we hit a huge problem."

When she furrowed her brows, Harry tenderly touched her throat. There was still a distinct stripe of skin that differed in colour from the rest of her neck. "Your suppression collar had Tracking Charms. That, and because of the way they set it up, without removing it in a ritual, you could have either lost all your magic permanently or died. There was no way to know."

Hermione remembered seeing other Muggle-borns that had been married off to Death Eaters. They had not worn collars, which Hermione had always found intriguing, but never enough to risk asking questions. "One of you had to marry me."

"Which was why I insisted that Theo and the others ask you if you'd be willing to marry _anyone_. We didn't want you to be bonded against your will, but . . . I'm so sorry that I took that choice away from you, Hermione. I just couldn't leave you there to die, or risk you dying if we took you without getting that collar off."

Now that she knew everything that had happened and what they had all been fighting against over the years, she might have even forgiven them if they had let her marry Malfoy. Though, she was abundantly more pleased with the actual outcome. "If they'd tracked me here, it would have put you all in danger. You did the right thing."

Harry's shoulders lost some of their tension. Hermione's eyes softened at the sight. He had always looked burdened, even as a child. Now, tall and filled out, very much the man she always imagined he would become, he still looked tired from the weight of the world that he fought to hold up. She was grateful to know that he at least had help.

"You need to sleep."

Harry smiled as he looked up at her. "Still bossy."

She smiled softly at him. "I'm glad it was you. That . . . Harry, when you were . . . When you were Malfoy, when we were walking to the ceremony, you said . . ."

"It was you," Harry whispered, making and keeping eye contact, refusing to look away from her after the bold admission. "The girl I loved was you."


	7. Chapter 7

**May 9th, 2005**

"You loved me."

Hermione stared at him, her gaze fixated on the vulnerability and honesty in his eyes. He loved her. _Had_ loved her? Did he still? She opened her mouth, wanting clarification, but Harry finally broke eye contact which caused her to lose her nerve. A part of her wondered if she had left behind her inner Gryffindor in Thoros Nott's cellar.

"Everything's complicated," Harry muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose between his eyes.

_Complicated_. The word sank in her gut like a stone. Tilting her head to the side, Hermione forced a smile and tried to change the subject. "Where are your glasses?"

Harry looked back up at her quizzically. "What? Oh." He let out a chuckle. "Temporary charm that helps with the Polyjuice."

Awkward silence fell between them, and Harry stood, shuffling his feet. He sucked in a deep breath, an old tell that reminded her of whenever he had been called on during class and lacked the answer. He'd had the same expression on his face when he walked onto the pitch for his first Quidditch match. It was both endearing and unnerving all at once. He fetched his glasses from a nearby shelf, put them on, and turned to face her, clearly wanting her approval.

"There's Harry," she whispered.

"I do love you still."

Hermione's lips parted, and she slowly let out a breath, waiting for him to continue. When he did not, she licked her bottom lip and said, "You know I feel the same, right?" She felt the stone in her stomach vanish when he smiled at her, looking just as relieved as she felt.

"It's just—"

"Complicated."

"Yeah."

After another moment of silence, Hermione said, "We're married. Really married. Is it . . . irreversible?"

Harry nodded. "I know we're different people now. I don't expect anything from you, Hermione. I just want you to be alive and safe. We're still technically at war with Bellatrix's army of uninformed Death Eaters and Imperiused puppets. And . . . a lot has happened since . . ." He cleared his throat. "I want you to heal and do whatever you need to . . . I want to say get better, but it's not like you're sick. Sorry, I'm rubbish at this."

"I understand," Hermione said. "I know I'm not like I was. The crowd of people downstairs was too much. Logically, I understand why. I can comprehend that I'm safe, but physiologically, my body and mind have been conditioned to be alert and cautious. It's fight or flight. I know I'm not broken. I'm just . . . I'll need time."

He slowly walked toward her, kneeling down once again at her feet. "I'll do whatever you need me to do, Hermione. We can figure . . . _us_ out whenever you want to." He leant into her touch when she cupped his cheek, rubbing her fingers through his beard as though she were scratching a dog. "If you don't like the man I've become, we'll figure something out."

"I like the beard," Hermione said.

Harry chuckled. "I'm just lazy. I don't like to shave."

She gave him an incredulous look. "You know there's a charm, right?"

He made a noncommittal noise and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her touching him. He took her free hand in both of his and kissed her palm. When she moved her fingers from his beard to his hair, Harry let out an exhausted sigh and rested his head down beside her leg. The warmth of her skin made him want to fall asleep, which was usually when his brain began working overtime in thinking about everything in the world that worried him.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Were you hurt? I mean . . . I heard about Greyback, and someone said that you might have been behind what happened to Amycus Carrow—"

"They didn't touch me," Hermione said quickly, cutting him off. "Some certainly thought about it. Talked about it. Which was why I did what I did. But, you should probably know that I did have a . . . relationship, of sorts, when I was . . ."

Harry sat up, looking at her with compassion. "I know. It was about two years in, right?"

Hermione shrugged. "I didn't have a great concept of time."

"Dean told me."

Closing her eyes, Hermione shakily breathed out. "He's alive?"

Harry nodded. "After he was taken from the place where you two were. A group of us were able to break into the Ministry before it was officially sealed up. We thought maybe we could access some properties through the Floo Network. When that didn't work, we jammed it up on the inside with a few curses. It took them over a week to fix it. During that time, they used other means to transport Muggle-borns. Some of our forces caught Dean being moved. He told us that you were alive, where you were being kept, but we couldn't get in. He seemed . . . intimately concerned."

"It was nice," Hermione said quietly. "Having someone familiar around, I mean. It was only for about two months, but . . . it helped. I didn't love him, and I don't think he ever felt that way about me. We were just there for each other when we most needed it."

Harry swallowed. "If you _had_ fallen in love, it . . . I wouldn't fault you for that. Sometimes, it's hard to rely on a person, be intimate with them, and then just . . ." He bit his bottom lip anxiously, looking down at the ground. "Sometimes walking away from someone is hard."

"Are you still in love with Ginny?"

Attention fully grabbed, Harry's eyes widened comically at her question. "What? I, er, no. I mean . . . Ginny and I never got back together. Just friends."

"So, if it's not Ginny—"

"You should really get some rest," Harry said, his face flush. He looked heartbroken and guilty as he backed away from her. "I have things to look after. Men to debrief about everything that happened today. I can stay with you if you need me to. Or I can ask Luna or Ginny to come?"

Hermione stared at him, suspicious of his sudden change of subject. She shook her head. "I'll be better alone, I think. Do the doors lock?"

"They do, but I can keep them unlocked, if you'd prefer." He drew his wand and waved it in front of the door. "It's a one-way Locking Charm. You're free to go whenever you need to. I don't want you to feel caged in. No one but me can get back through. Is that all right?"

Nodding her head quickly, Hermione moved back onto the mattress, feeling like a little girl who needed to have her feet tucked under the covers so that the monsters beneath the bed could not reach her. "Go on. We'll talk more when I wake up. I'll be fine."

Harry gave her a wan smile that said he was not quite sure about that. "I'm glad you're home."

When he was out of sight, Hermione closed her eyes and let tears spill over onto her cheeks.

_Home_.

* * *

Sleep came oddly easy. It was shocking how safety could have such an impact. Hermione had walked right up to Harry's wards, pressing her hand against and then into the magic, letting the familiar feel wash over her. _Protected_. It was easy to let the thought lull her to sleep. Staying that way, however, came with more difficulty. She woke several times throughout the day, taking notice of the sun's position out the window each and every time she opened her eyes. Only once had Harry been there, sitting at his desk, making notes without being alerted to her having woken. Every time she was reminded that she was no longer in a Death Eater's home, Hermione closed her eyes and let sleep take her once again.

Eventually, she woke to a pitch black room, Harry gone. Tired of the silence, she pulled herself from the bed, eager to check the wards once again, a habit, she thought, that would not go away anytime soon. Sighing as her fingertips grazed the invisible barrier, she muttered under her breath, "Don't develop a compulsion, now."

Unable to cast her own light without a wand or the ability to do magic even if she had one, Hermione let touch guide her around the room. She ran her fingers over every surface, memorising the feel of it. She smiled when she stumbled upon Harry's cloak, fisting it in her hands and bringing it up to her face to breathe in the scent. It smelled like him, but there was still a lingering scent of smoke in the fabric. Setting it down over the back of a chair, she moved along the room, gasping when her fingers felt something familiar.

She closed her eyes, nostalgia heavy in her mind as she picked up the Invisibility Cloak.

* * *

Determination, curiosity, and the magical anonymity carried her through the hospital corridors. Retracing the steps she had taken earlier, Hermione found herself back down in the corridor where they had arrived. Terrified, but eager, she made her way through the open doors that Ginny and the Death Eaters had vanished through that afternoon. No one walked the hallways, but she could see light coming from an area around a corner. Taking slow but certain steps, she peeked around it, leaning against the doorframe until she was peering into a room through the window of a closed set of double doors.

Her mouth fell open at the sight. Each and every young Death Eater that had fought at Harry's side was lying in a hospital bed, magical and Muggle monitors hooked up to their bodies. Stepping back, Hermione looked up to see the words "Critical Care Unit" written above the doorway. She wondered if that was just a coincidence.

Staring back into the room, she watched as unfamiliar faces sat at the bedsides of the Death Eaters, some sleeping, others reading to keep themselves occupied. There was a little girl asleep in the bed where Zabini lay unconscious, tucked up under his right arm. Theo Nott was in the bed next to him, separated by partitions similar to the ones used in the Hogwarts hospital wing. Neville was curled up next to the bed in an armchair that looked magically enlarged, Luna asleep in his lap. Her arm was stretched awkwardly behind her, her fingers laced through Nott's.

It was not the concerning sight of unconscious Death Eaters or her sleeping friends that had her in shock, however. It was Harry—sitting in an uncomfortable looking chair next to Malfoy's bed with his shoulders slumped forward and his forehead pressed against a metal railing. He had one of Malfoy's hands cradled in both of his the same way he had done with her earlier that night: gently, tenderly, affectionately . . . _intimately_.

"Oh my God," she whispered in understanding.

"It's good to see you up and about."

Hermione jumped and spun on her heel, turning to see Ginny standing behind her. "Ginny?"

The redhead grinned. "Or, well, not _see_ you see you."

Tugging the Invisibility Cloak off, Hermione let it fall to the floor at her feet. "Ginny."

Her friend sucked in a breath and opened her arms but then hesitated. "Oh, Hermione. Can I . . . Can I hug you?" When Hermione nodded and stepped close, Ginny wrapped her arms around her gently. "Merlin, I've missed you."

Doing her best not to cry, Hermione hugged back as tight as she could without hurting the other witch. "I thought before that you were upset with me."

Pulling back, Ginny wiped at her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "What for?"

Hermione sniffed. "Because Harry was forced to marry me."

Ginny let out a laugh that seemed oddly placed considering where they were and what world they lived in. It left Hermione with a sense of hope that things could be normal. "Oh hell," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "I've not looked at Harry that way since Bill's wedding. Years, honestly. And don't go thinking anyone had to twist Harry's hand to marry you. He was more concerned with what you and . . ."—her gaze briefly flickered to the window—". . . everyone else would think about the idea."

Hermione looked back inside, watching as Harry pressed the back of Malfoy's hand to his cheek. "Silencing Charm on the door?"

Ginny nodded. "Heard the wedding was awesome," she said with a smirk.

"The wedding was boring," Hermione muttered. "The fight afterward wasn't . . . entirely unpleasant." She recalled the look of absolute fury and terror in the Death Eaters eyes, Dolohov specifically, right before Malfoy had Portkeyed her out of there.

"He's all grown up, our Harry," Ginny said affectionately as she moved right up against Hermione, squishing them both into the corner to peer inside, "but he's still the same boy who killed a Basilisk when he was twelve. Runs into battle head first. Thankfully, he's got brilliant people like us to do his thinking for him."

When Hermione remained quiet, staring at Harry and an unconscious Malfoy, Ginny elbowed her gently. "I wasn't upset with you earlier. I was upset that I couldn't come right to you. Things were a bit mad when you all came back, and we only had a short window to get the snakes settled."

"What's happening to them?"

The magical monitors hovered around the bodies like a colourful fog with a pulse. The Muggle monitors were hooked up to their chests and arms, likely keeping track of heart rate and blood pressure. Each had a significantly bright bubble of magic wrapped around their left arms. Only through a squinted gaze could Hermione see the tense muscles beneath the charm.

"They're being tortured through their Dark Marks. Luna was able to alter the tattoo enough that they could come through our wards without a hassle, but we couldn't figure out how to break the mark entirely, especially since they needed to be summoned if necessary to keep their covers. But now that's all done with. Bellatrix knows they all turned traitor, and she's using Riddle's connection to them to make them suffer for it."

"They're asleep. Draught of Living Death?" Hermione asked. Ginny smiled and touched her nose with the tip of her index finger. "For how long?"

"Until it drains the magic. Bill figured it out. Once Bellatrix locked onto their Dark Marks, we put a Stasis Charm on them and anchored it directly to the curse that Riddle put into the tattoo," Ginny said, looking rather impressed with the magic as she described it. "Even if Bellatrix stopped trying to hurt them hours ago, they're still connected. Harry says it's like leaving the lights on a car."

Hermione smiled, her brain that she knew had gone long neglected felt like it was being brought back to life in the wake of her freedom and access to knowledge once more. "You're draining the battery. The power attached to the Dark Mark. That's brilliant."

"Unfortunately, we have to sit around and wait for the magic to just . . . die." Ginny gestured with her hand at the room full of Death Eaters. "Meanwhile, they're suffering. They can't feel it, not really, or at least they won't remember it when they wake up, but it's still bloody awful to watch."

When Hermione saw Harry kiss Malfoy's palm, she turned away from the window. Ginny looked at her sympathetically, and Hermione sighed. "It's not . . . I'm just shocked." And she was. She had known that Harry was holding something back, but it never once occurred to her that it was _this_. She tried not to focus on how worried Harry looked.

"Harry didn't tell you, I take it?"

Hermione shook her head. "How did it happen?"

"You died," Ginny said bluntly, looping her arm through Hermione's and leading her away from the window. "And then Pansy Parkinson was found flayed in what used to be Diagon Alley."

Eyes wide in shock, Hermione stumbled over the Invisibility Cloak that was still wrapped around her feet. She cleared her throat as she bent down to retrieve it, wondering if what she felt was shock or pity for Pansy Parkinson.

"She'd gone missing for three weeks," Ginny said as she walked into a nearby room that used to be a waiting area for families when the building had been a Muggle hospital. "Draco had been trying to convince her to join us, but he couldn't tell her exact information thanks to all the vows he took to keep our secrets. She promised to meet with him somewhere to talk about it, and she never showed up. We don't think that anyone knew she was thinking of turning; Draco says that Pansy was already on the bad side of some really terrible people. He and Blaise found her body."

She frowned, letting out a heavy sigh as she took a seat on one of the sofas, gesturing for Hermione to join her. "She was his best friend—Pansy and Draco, I mean. Harry understood Draco better than anyone else, after what we thought had happened to you."

Hermione pinched her lips into a straight line, thinking about the years that all of her friends had thought her dead. They had _grieved_ for her. It hurt to think on too much.

"Then Lucius Malfoy died," Ginny continued waving her hand back toward the other room, "and those two disappeared behind closed doors for three weeks. We all took turns looking after Draco's mother, and Harry looked after Draco. They still argue and banter like before, and they actually fought a lot in the beginning."

"How long?" Hermione wondered.

"Years. I don't know when they made it official, but . . . Are you all right?"

She had not realised that she was wringing the Invisibility Cloak in her hands, but her knuckles had gone white. Looking down, Hermione let go of the cloak and flexed her fingers. "Harry loves Malfoy. He . . . I took that away from him—from _them_."

Ginny reached out, taking one of Hermione's hands. "Harry made up his own mind, Hermione. And he _does_ love you. Always has."

"What did Malfoy think of the plan to save me?" Hermione asked, eyeing the doorway as though Malfoy would come straight through it at any minute and hex her.

"Angry, of course. But not at _you_. Merlin knows that he would have done the same thing and left Harry if Parkinson was still alive and needed a quick wedding to be safe. We're at war, and Draco knows that sacrifices have to be made. He's made plenty." Ginny sighed, running a hand through her red hair. Hermione noticed that it was much longer than she had ever seen it. When the locks were briefly moved away from Ginny's neck, Hermione noticed a group of thick scars.

Unconsciously, Hermione touched the marks on her own skin that Greyback had left behind and watched as Ginny purposely put her hair back in place, averting her gaze in the process. "How can Malfoy have changed so much?"

Looking much more comfortable with the conversation, Ginny relaxed. "Well, he was a right prat for seven years at Hogwarts, and then he's spent the _last_ seven years being not so big of a prat. Maybe he just didn't like school very much. Allergic to the castle?"

Hermione let out a soft, unconvincing chuckle. Eventually, she muttered, "Temperamental toward Scottish climate?"

Ginny laughed and put an arm around Hermione's shoulder, hugging her close. "He's a shit, but we're all a little sour now and then, aren't we?"

"What did Ron think of this?"

Snorting, Ginny rolled her eyes. "Thought it was horrid, of course. Went out of his way to avoid them for about a month. Then we started pranking him by telling him he was needed in rooms that Harry and Draco were . . ." She stopped when she noticed Hermione shifting uncomfortably. "Sorry. Too much information? S'pose you don't much want to hear about your new husband's sordid past with his ex."

"Husband," Hermione remarked under her breath, still in shock over the day's events. "They didn't look like _exes_ in there."

"Harry's never been good at letting go."

Hermione nodded, and then eventually looked up, already feeling herself on the verge of tears as she asked, "How did Ron die?"

Ginny tensed, but a familiar posture took over that reminded Hermione of the way that Professor McGonagall would hold herself. "Bravely." She sniffed once and swallowed down what had to still be immense grief. "My stupid, big brother. Bellatrix lost control of the werewolves some years ago. We heard that a pack had a group of children that they'd infected. Death Eaters and locals that aren't with us are told to kill werewolves on sight. Ron went in with a small group to save them. He got the kids out, but Death Eaters showed up, and between them and the wolves . . . It's okay. He's a hero."

Hermione brought a hand to her chest, closing her eyes as she fought the tears that were stubbornly falling from the corners of her eyes. "A Hero."

Ginny nodded, giving Hermione a watery smile. She wiped away a few of her own stray tears and then squeezed Hermione's hand. "We're all very proud of him. And we still have Amy."

Blinking, confused, Hermione looked up. "Amy?"

Ginny frowned and let out an exasperated sigh. "Bloody hell, what did Harry waste all that time talking to you about, tomorrow's breakfast menu?"


End file.
